Ignis in Vacui
by Mattwho81
Summary: Struggling to rebuild in the age of the Dark Imperium the Storm Heralds find a supposedly routine mission descending into anarchy. Trapped between death and dishonor can they find a way to rise above the challenge or will they forsake their ideals to survive? Art by Veroncia Anrathi (d1sarmon1a)
1. Chapter 1

**Storm Heralds Reading List**

 **Book1** _Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, In Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum, Vacuus Cymba, Noctem Oritur_

 **Book2** _Umbram Ignis, Ancra Mortis, Fame Cimex, Crux Lapis, Saeva Abyssi_

 **Book3** _Captum Ante, Venenum Filios, Locum Ignotum, Domus Discordia_

 **Book4** _Cincere Tempestas_ , _Ignis in Vacui_

 **Ignis in Vacui: Chapter 1**

 _Extract from Imperial Crusades of the new Age: Vol I._

 _The century following of creation of the Cicatrix Maledictum and the infamous Noctis Aeterna were a time of woe and grief. Countless threats emerged from the darkness between stars and the number of worlds lost remains unknown to this day, while the multitudes of the dead is beyond counting. The sheer number of calamities assailing mankind was on a scale not seen since the Horus Heresy and yet even in this darkest of times there was a glimmer of hope. A few desperate heroes who stood against the rising darkness and refused to yield._

 _Most Historitors focus upon the mighty armada that was the Indomitus Crusade, which was certainly the vastest in scope and by far the most successful, yet it is not the whole story. Across the galaxy wars raged, every Imperial army, fleet and Astartes Chapter engaged in a plethora of wars. These include the Aquila Crusade, the Revilers spearhead and the ill-fated Charon Crusade. Sometimes the return of the Astronomican allowed a modicum of wider coordination but most often the defenders of the Imperium fought on in blindness, unaware of the significance of their actions in a wider galaxy or even if they were winning._

 _History tends to paint the picture that the Indomitus Crusade was the single action that turned the tide, but in truth the galaxy would have been long since lost without these array of lesser conflicts. Many of which would have implications and consequences that would not become apparent until many years afterwards._

She had been expecting the jolt but its sheer intensity took her by surprise, throwing her to one side with jarring force as the gravity shifted. She sprawled in her command chair as the deck shook around her but she could do nothing but cling on for dear life. The bulkheads quaked and the hull rumbled as she hung on and waited for the gravity to stabilise.

After what seemed like an eternity the rattling ceased and the thunder faded, freeing her to sit up and take stock. She was a stern looking woman, with a lean face and grey hair that was tied up in a bun, her frame was slight but hard and her vision hid steel. Thanks to vagaries of Warp Travel and subtle juvenat work, her age was indeterminate but she certainly had said goodbye to her youth long ago. Her attire was plain and grey, a tunic and trousers with hard boots but her throat was adorned with the golden pins of command. Her name was Janna Horroway and she was the Captain of the Bonaventure.

Horroway drew herself up in her command chair and looked around the bridge. She was elevated on a short pedestal, for clearer vision of the various stations as opposed to any sense of entitlement. Everywhere she looked her crew were diligently tending to their stations, set in wide rings around her position so she could see everything at a glance. High above were ancient dedications and inscriptions, so aged that they had faded into illegibility. The crew were showing signs of strain but they were not afraid, they were focused and ready, alert and confident. The Bonaventure had a long history of lucky escapes and her Captain's attitude was steady and certain. None doubted that they would win through once again.

Horrorway drew in a breath and called, "Damage report!"

From the foot of her pedestal her Number One turned to face her. He had blue skin and eyes without pupils, his frame was slight and his face was slit by a vertical gash instead of a nose. His skin was hard and his jaw firm, but there was a universe of hidden pain in his eyes. His name was Kor' D'ras G'resh and he was calling out calmly, "Rear shields failed. Moderate damage to lower decks but no loss of power, they clipped us but not hard."

"Hard enough," Horroway spat through gritted teeth, "Those Ork junkheaps are right in our rear, they can hammer us with impunity."

The Number One asked, "Should we come about?"

"Belay that Mr D'ras," Horroway commanded, "Where are our support ships?"

By her right side there was a flare of purest light that condensed into the form of a beautiful young woman in a form-fitting catsuit. Data flowed over her skin like she was standing under a waterfall. This was merely an affectation of course, as was her gender, her true-self was a series of Binaric codes and self-writing algorithms in the data-looms of the Bonaventure's massive cogitator cores, but for the convenience of the crew she had chosen this interface and she answered to the name Numeta.

Numeta's avatar was still for a micro-second and then her face sprang into life and she called, "Orks are pressing in on all sides, our support ships are heavily engaged. Borlac Gun-Brigs are trading blows with that Rok and the Orreti Arsenal ship is falling back, trying to reload ordnance."

Horroway accepted this and called, "What of the Scythians?"

Numeta replied smoothly, "The Sloops are dancing with a squadron of Brute ramships, they have to keep them off the Borlac or the Greenskins will tear those Gun-Brigs apart."

"Show me," commanded Horroway.

After a moment a large Hololithic display flared into being over their heads and the officers peered upwards. Within the swirling image was the icon of the Bonaventure, shining blue while all around her swam a variety of icons, blazing red dots representing ramshackle Orks and blue for friendly vessels, all dancing around densely packed asteroids. There were the blunt-nosed blocks of the Gun-Brigs, over there the clustered pods of the Arsenal ship and along the periphery the recurved wings of the tiny sloops, spitting Meson-beam fire at a gaggle of Ork escorts. Black icons represented dead Ork vessels, of which there were a lot, but there were still plenty to present a serious threat. The Bonaventure was being pursued by a trio of escorts, not enough to kill her outright but it was only a matter of time until they wore her down.

Horroway looked into the display and her mind ran with calculations, her long experience telling her that the battle was hanging in the balance. She instantly saw that her forces were fully committed, pulling her escorts away to clear the Bonaventure's rear could lose them the fight. But there was one option left open to her. Horroway spent a second running vectors in her mind and then called, "Signal the Scythians, tell them to keep harassing the ram ships. Then call the Orreti; tell them I need a heavy-drone strike."

The crew hastened to obey but Numeta screwed up her face like a child denied a candy and whined, "The Orreti signal they are struggling to keep the Fighta-bombers at bay, they intend to disengage."

Horroway fought down an urge to snap but resolved to have a word with Numeta later; sometimes her avatar's behavioural responses fell wide of the mark. Horroway steeled her spine and barked, "Tell them to hold position or their Matriarchs will hear of their cowardice and reject their eggs from the spawning pits. If they wish their gene-lines to continue then they will prepare a torpedo-drone strike at our position."

That brought gasps from around the bridge but the crew were too disciplined to waver and kept to their duties. Yet D'ras steeped closer, wringing his three-fingered hands together and whispered, "Captain, is this wise?"

Horroway eyed her Number One warily, he boasted the experience of one born to the void but his eyes hid a terrible horror. Here was someone who had seen the madness of the Warp first-hand and was still scarred by it. Horroway trusted his competence but unless he could find his steel he would never rise to command a ship of his own. Horroway leaned in and replied, "Be brave of heart, we are both star-born. The void holds nothing we have not overcome before."

"For the Greater Good," D'ras whispered, invoking old philosophies but then the Bonaventure rocked again and Numeta called, "Glancing hits to the rear! Armour held but they almost hit the main drives, if we lose thrust…"

Horroway cut her off saying, "Where are the Orreti?"

Numeta clarified, "Holding ready off the ventral axis, torpedo-drones ready."

Horroway could see that herself but it did the crew good to hear it. She called out, "Fire on my mark, Mr Robar I will require maximum thrust."

"Aye, aye Captain," called Robar, the Chief Engineer, a stocky human male with a husky accent, "Reactors are purring like Caronoids, we're ready."

Horroway looked up into the Hololith, waiting for the vectors to be just right and then commanded, "Wait for it, wait for it… Now!"

Instantly several things happened, the waiting Arsenal ship birthed a dozen fast-moving drones, headed right at the Bonaventure. Yet at the same moment the ship leapt into motion, accelerating with a speed and grace most ships her size could not match. The Bonaventure was a sleek Astro-clipper of the Callisto-class but her engines had been enhanced in strange ways. She had the mass of a Battlecruiser but the straight line speed of a light Cruiser. It was no idle boast to say that the Bonaventure was the fastest ship in the fleet.

The Orks were taken by complete surprise and fell behind as the Bonaventure leapt ahead and they were still reeling in confusion when the drone-strike flew into the space where the ship had been. These drones were no mindless projectiles, but smart weapons with sophisticated guidance systems. The Orks barely had time to react, spraying out a desultory burst of turret fire, before the drones slammed into their hulls and blew them apart with brilliant balls of plasma.

Cheers erupted over the bridge as the icons disappeared from the Hololith but Holloway didn't join them. The sudden acceleration had changed all the vectors of the battle and now the Captain was hurriedly calculating new plots. Even as she thought words spilled out of her mouth, "We're on a course for that Rok, helm bring us two points to starboard and reduce thrust to three-quarters speed. Signal the Borlac to ready a barrage but hold until we can catch the Greenskins in a cross-fire. Mr Krang, ready broadside guns and power up the Meson-beamers, hold the Ceti-Disrupter in reserve."

From the tactical station a large, scaly being with a long snout and heavy muscles stood slightly straighter. His snout made a guttural snarl but a small implant in his throat called out, "Permission to add the prow guns?"

Horroway nodded in affirmation, the prow guns were paltry things, barely enough to trouble an escort but at close range every shot counted. The Captain glanced at the sensor readings and beheld the Rok, it was a truly ugly sight, all lumpy stone and jagged protuberances. Guns and engines and guns and armour and more guns stuck out seemingly at random and she was astonished that it could move at all, let alone fight. As always the old enemy would seem pathetic were it not for the fact that the blasted thing did move and it could most assuredly fight.

Horroway leaned back in her chair and said, "Numeta, run a structural analysis on that slag-heap. Find something critical to aim for."

Numeta froze for a moment as the data streams following over her sped up, a sign her Binaric-self was working furiously. After a moment the avatar came back to life saying, "There's an errant power surge running through it like an axis, a direct hit from the Meson-beams could well set off a chain reaction."

"Feed that into the targeting and coordinate our fire with the Borlac," Horroway ordered as the Hololith icons crawled together, the distance shrinking before her eyes. She could see the Rok turning, drawn by the prospect of a worthy kill. The Ork's heavy Gunz were numerous and powerful, in a slogging match they would surely win, but the Bonaventure was quick and precise with a vicious punch of her own. Plus she was not fighting alone, for trailing the Rok were a pair of Gun-Brigs, heavy brawlers in their own right.

Suddenly sparks of energy lit up the front of the Rok as the Gunz let fly. The crew gasped but Horroway called out, "Primitive savages fired too soon, they should have waited until we were closer. At this range all they will do is tickle our shields!"

Sure enough the Bonaventure rocked with impacts but the range was too great she was angled abeam. She slipped through without a single shell touching her hull and hove into range of her own guns. Horroway waited as eternal seconds dragged by and then they were 'crossing the T' and she called, "Fire guns!"

Instantly the Bonaventure's flank lit up as rows of Macro-plasma weapons discharged. A barrage of firepower struck the Rok dead on, soaking the void shields to maximum. Simultaneously the Gun-Brigs let loose, flinging an astonishing torrent of Atomonic shells right into the Ork's rear. The Gun-Brigs were brutal craft, with short-ranged weapons but at close ranges their prow guns put an Ork ship to shame. The Rok quivered under the barrage and then the shields blew out.

Instantly Horroway called, "Fire Meson-Beamers!"

In response two twin beams of light shot out of the Bonaventure's flank. They struck the Rok dead-on, boring into its exposed hide with surgical skill. Horroway held her breath in anticipation, waiting for some vast explosion to fill the Hololith but the seconds crawled by with nothing happening. Just as she was about to despair Numeta cried, "Reading internal explosions and power level dropping sharply, I think we took out whatever passes for their reactors. Confirmed: they're dead in the void!"

The bridge crew erupted into cheers as the Rok drifted into a powerless tumble. Voices raised in elation as the crew felt the rush of surviving another brush with death unscathed. Horroway let the cheers ring on for a few moments then called, "Alright that's enough, back to your posts. We need to polish off the stragglers and make sure there are no more surprises waiting."

As the crew resumed their work the Captain turned to Numeta and said, "Prepare a Hyperlight message for the High Senate. Tell them that it's safe to send in the mining vessels: this asteroid belt now belongs to the Diasporex!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 2**

The noise of his own breathing filled his ears, a steady repetitive rasp. In and out, again and again, drawing recycled air into his enhanced lungs. It was a familiar sound, one he had heard so often that it was barely noticeable, yet what wasn't so familiar was the tightness of his helm across the back of his head. The new helmet did not fit nearly as well as his old model but the skull-helm was a treasured Relic and he would not offend its spirit, no matter how it pinched his skull.

He was tall for a Space Marine, so tall that he matched the new Primaris for height, though he was definitely a conventional Astartes in every other way. His armour had been modified to fit, boasting the jagged silhouette and reinforced plates of the Mark III 'Iron pattern'. In his right hand was a shining Crozius, with a spread-winged eagle bearing lightning bolts in its claws and at his waist was a Storm-Bolter. His armour was black and upon his breast was a sacred Rosarius, hanging over a winged skull icon. His pauldrons remained storm grey, set with the spiral in a starburst symbol of the Storm Heralds Chapter. He was Chaplain Furion and he surveyed his surroundings with suspicion.

All around Furion squads of the Third Company proceeded, their mag-boots making distinctive thud-clunks as they latched onto the deck. They were moving with the strange lightness of zero-gravity, but not slowed at all by it. Power armour was a self-contained unit, fully capable of operating in zero-gravity or vacuum, although there was still air here they still kept their void seals closed, who knew when a breach might suck out the stale air?

Third Company was advancing into a deserted space station, their stab lights and autosenses easily picking out the surroundings. They were alert and cautious but to a veteran's eye their rookie status was glaring. Since the coming of the Noctis Aeterna the Storm Heralds had been fighting constantly. Ignorant rebellions, filthy Xeno invasions and nightmarish Daemonic incursions had all taken their toll and casualties had been heavy. Third Company had been forced to return to their homeworld to rebuild and Furion suspected they had been rushed back out into the stars far too soon.

The youngsters were trained Astartes but there was a simmering tension between the new bloods and the old ranks, a shame that divided them. Five years earlier the Storm Heralds had been wracked by terrible kin-strife, a shameful civil war fought over the issue of the Emperor's divinity. The veterans had all fought through that harrowing conflict in the name of secular rationalism, some of them being mere Scouts at the time, but they had forged unbreakable bonds regardless. Yet these new bloods had been too young to fight in that conflict and it was proving hard for them to fit in. Strange how a difference of only a few years could create such a jarring divide.

Furion was shocked out of his musings as a cry came over the vox, "Bodies!" Instantly weapons snapped up and he heard Captain Toran order, "Secure this area."

Third Company obeyed, their training overcoming simmering resentments as the Company fanned out. Furion saw that they were entering a large loading dock, big enough to fit dozens of heavy-cargo shuttles. It was dark and echoing and filled with bodies drifting aimlessly in the weightless environment. Dead eyes stared at nothing, but their faces were locked in horror and each and every one bore gaping wounds.

Toran directed his squads to secure the bay and then called over the vox, "Furion, a word." The Chaplain marched up to the Captain, taking in his gold ranks chains, shining Relic sword and red cloak, secured to his belt so it didn't flap about weightlessly. Furion had known Toran since he was a rookie and had proudly watched him grow into a fine commander. Truth be told, the Captain had long since outgrown such obvious adornments of rank, but nobody commented on the Captain's love of theatrics. He had led them through the worst of the civil war and his Marines could overlook a few foibles for a Commander who stood beside them in every fight and never hesitated to shed his own blood.

Toran was looking up at the bodies and asked over a closed link, "What do you make of this?"

Furion craned his neck and remarked, "Whatever did this was inhumanly strong and vicious. Look at the number of wounds, far more than was necessary, the killers delighted in the carnage."

Toran's head lowered and he murmured, "You suspect…"

Furion cut him off, "I think we need hard facts, not speculation."

Toran nodded and widened his vox channel to say, "Apothecary Memnos, inspect the dead."

From the ordered ranks came a white-clad Space Marine, Memnos the Apothecary. He hastened to obey, pulling a couple of bodies down to examine them. Furion watched him closely, his eyes drifting to the plasteel chains wrapping the Apothecary's forearms. The Apothecary order had been thoroughly disgraced in the civil war, forever condemned to wear Chains of Shame as a mark of dishonour. Yet so ardently had Memnos embraced his penance that many Initiates were starting to forget why he wore them, treating him as an honourable Brother. But Furion hadn't; he still saw the faces of the neophytes killed in the sick experiments. Furion had made it plain to Memnos that he had forgotten nothing and he would never forgive the Apothecary for his crimes.

After a minute Memnos looked up and stated, "These were inflicted by crude weapons, blunt instruments and excessive amounts of solid shot."

Furion accepted the information but jerked his head dismissively and the Apothecary backed off before the Chaplain's disdain. But then another voice arose, it was Persion the Command Squad's communication specialist and he was saying, "Why bother, we already know who did this."

From the ranks a red-clad Techmarine spoke up, he was Hevostan, an old and honoured comrade of Furion's. Hevostan raised a surprisingly rich baritone to counter, "We know nothing, we have no conclusive data."

At that a golden helm turned, the Company Champion Novak. He held a shining power sword and a combat shield that in its centre bore a broken and cracked Rosarius, a gift from an ally in a most desperate war, and he said, "Who else could it possibly be?"

Hevostan shook his red helm and replied, "There are any numbers of Xenos that could have done this."

Novak snorted sarcastically, "Yes, this certainly looks like the work of Eldar."

Furion sighed at Novak's irrepressible tongue and he barked, "Enough, something overran the asteroid mines of this system and our orders are to find proof of its nature. This mineral-processing station was the closest thing the Dulcis system had to a Governor's Palace, answers must be here."

Hevostan commented, "The most efficient means would be to retrieve the station's logic-engines, the Machine Spirits will have a complete record of events."

Toran nodded and said, "Let's scout ahead, Librarian Arvael, take a look."

At the back a Space Marine in eldritch Mark IV armour, with one pauldron emblazoned with a Daemon's head being bisected by a sword, went still as his awareness drifted far away. Arvael was a telekine, with a gift for scrying, a most useful trait yet he was not wholly trusted. Perhaps it was his Psyker nature, perhaps the fact that the Librarian order had sat out the civil war in meditation, but few felt easy in his presence. Personally, Furion could find no fault in the Librarian's conduct but Arvael remained a Warp-touched mutant and Chaplain's duty was to monitor closely and execute any Psyker at the first hint of Daemonic possession.

As the Librarian sent his vision flying ahead Brother Jediah muttered, "There better be something here, this milk-run is a complete waste of a Space Marine's talents. I want to find a real battle."

Furion eyed Jediah warily, for the bloodthirsty Marine was growing agitated, never a good thing. Jediah skirted the borders of what was acceptable for a Storm Herald, his savage enjoyment of killing warring with his dutiful side. His only saving grace was his respect for strength, a fact Furion had subtly used on many occasions. Toran never knew it but Furion had repeatedly beaten down Jediah in the duelling cages to keep him in line. Jediah was a most deadly killer with a weapon in hand but bare-handed Furion's strength was unmatched.

Novak spoke over Furion's thoughts, "This is boring, it's worse than that drill in the scouts, you know the one where the training sergeants send us out all alone to catch snipes on the Sunset Isles. Two Fraking weeks I scoured damp rocks on a beach before I realised they aren't sodding real."

There was loaded silence from all and then Persion asked, "You did what?"

Novak started in surprise, "You know the drill. We all had to do it… didn't we?"

Only blank stares came back and then Persion said, "Novak… I think that was only you."

Novak sounded aghast as he spluttered "But… I thought we all had to do it. Why am I the only one who went through that?"

"The training sergeants probably wanted a rest from your wagging tongue," Furion scolded, "Now tend to your duties and stop distracting us."

The squad drifted apart, chuckling softly over the vox, but one remained by Furion's side. The Chaplain sighed at that, seeing another black-clad Marine following his every step. Like him this warrior wore a skull-helm and Rosarius but his Crozius was formed into a pair of skeletal hands. A treasured relic, rumoured to house the finger-bones of a dead Sister-of-Silence, it was called Dread-Hand and had been hard won during the traditional trial in the Hall of Tempests. This Marine's name was Cortha and he was Furion's new apprentice.

Furion established a closed vox-link and said, "Cortha, you don't have to hang onto me like a limpet."

Cortha lowered his head and said, "Apologies Master, I am sorry."

"Don't act sorry," Furion chastised him, "The Brothers look to us to remind them of their purpose and fire their zeal. You must be confident and unwavering at all times."

"Yes Master," Cortha replied but then said, "I had not realised Third Company was so free-spirited, their banter is… surprising."

"Shared danger forges tight bonds," Furion explained, "Their comradery is a manifestation of their unbreakable Brotherhood, it does not detract from it. When you see them in battle you will understand why the Captain lets them wag their tongues so. Jediah was right though, this is a milk-run to settle the new blood into the ranks, they need a real battle to unite them."

"Yes Master," Cortha replied, "It's just third Company is not what I expected. Talk in the scout-barracks was Captain Toran won the civil war single-handed, cutting off the Heretic Lessall's head with the Sword of Thiel."

"It wasn't like that," Furion sighed sadly in remembrance, "We all fought and bled until Lessall took the cowards way out and committed suicide. That war was shameful, we should be contrite, not glorifying spilling our kin's blood."

Cortha lowered his head and said, "I stand corrected."

At that Furion sighed to himself. The Apothecaries had been disgraced in the civil war but the Chaplaincy had been eradicated. Furion had only become a Chaplain after the fighting ended, his history as a rejected applicant making him the only viable candidate. In truth Furion had been reluctant to accept but he had finally accepted the role to correct the numerous mistakes of the past. For years he had been the only Chaplain in the Chapter but at last a new order was rising, one made up entirely of new bloods. Furion wasn't sure that was a good thing, he would have favoured veterans, but Chapter Master Phalros had informed him in no uncertain terms that they needed a clean slate and that he would be taking on an apprentice.

Furion found young Cortha to have admirable zeal but he needed his rough edges knocking off before he could go out alone. He struggled with the more spiritual and pastoral aspects of his role and he had a whiff of the zealous fanaticism that had started the civil war. Furion wasn't opposed to divine miracles but concentrated more on encouraging his Brothers to contemplate their duties with reverence and humility. When pressed he would say the mission the Emperor had bestowed upon them was holy, what more could anyone want than that?

Suddenly there was a gasp from Arvael and Furion spun about as Captain Toran called, "Report!"

The Librarian hurriedly shook off his stupor cried, "Orks! Coming right at us!"

Hands tightened on weapons as Furion cried, "Steel your hearts Brothers, battle has found us!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 3**

The thin air rang with the distant cries of Orks, bestial and savage in nature. The noise echoed into the loading bay, emanating from the corridors that ran deeper into the space station. The sound was oddly high-pitched for Orks, a side-effect of the wispy atmosphere but there was no doubt that it was coming closer. Captain Toran was already barking orders, "Codex formation Delta-seven: break up and hold the doorways, they are coming from three directions and we need to stop them getting out into the open. Sergeant Matheus, take three squads and cover that fuelling hatch at the far end. Chaplain Furion, put some heavy fire down that cargo lift. Everyone else, with me at the main doors!"

Instantly the Storm Heralds ran to obey, breaking up to cover every entrance. Furion ran towards a gaping hole in the floor. It was a wide cargo-lift, big enough to lower four cargo-8's transports at once and it was wide open. Normally it would be a vertical shaft, an impediment to any attacker but in this weightless environment it may as well have been an open tunnel. Such disorientation would befuddle most mortals but there was a reason Astartes were called Space Marines, they knew the void as well as the back of their hands.

Furion had brought three squads with him, a pair of Devastator squads and a Tactical unit. Furion also saw that Librarian Arvael had elected to stand with them, as had apprentice Cortha and Apothecary Memnos. Furion's lipped curled back as the disgraced Apothecary drew a chainsword but he said nothing, now was not the time. Furion returned his gaze down the gaping shaft, waiting for the first signs of movement. From his side he heard Cortha say, "This is a bad defensive position, couldn't you have given us more warning?"

Arvael shook his helm and replied, "It doesn't work like that, I see only what is, not what will be."

"Psykers," Cortha spat angrily, "It's always the stars are not right, the omens are not favourable. Nothing but excuses."

"Leave him be," Memnos rebuked, "It's more warning than we would have otherwise got."

Furion grimaced at that and snapped, "Cease your prattling, enemies approach. Sergeant Zeax, are you ready?"

From the far side of the lift the Devastator Sergeant, who bore a thunder hammer lifted his head and called, "Ready." Furion checked and saw that the Astartes were surrounding the hole, weapons pointed downwards. From here they could fire Heavy Bolters and missiles down the shaft while being in cover. Furion approved and yet his vox clicked on a private link and he heard Cortha say, "Why are we waiting here? We should advance and meet them head-on."

Furion felt a surge of exasperation and said, "Charge right into the face of Orks; that is foolish. The Captain has laid down his strategy and we shall follow. The Codex Astartes clearly states that this situation calls for a defensive action, maximising cover and confined spaces."

"Cover," Cortha snorted dismissively, "Cover is for mortals, we are Astartes, we should trust to our armour and faith to win the day. What are Orks compared to our tactical superiority?"

Furion grimaced at the youngster's hubris and spat, "Do not fall prey to reckless bravado, underestimating your foe is a deadly mistake. Forget not Codex Vol VII, chapter V, verse XI, 'Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat'."

Cortha lowered his helm and said, "Yes master, I understand. I merely wish to bathe my Crozius in greenskin blood."

"Do not make excuses," Furion growled wishing dearly the Chapter Master had chosen veterans to become Chaplains, "We are not Champions to claim the heads of the foe, nor Captains to dictate strategy. We are Chaplains; our duty is to vouchsafe our Brother's morale and moral conduct, to stoke their zeal for the fight. You should be addressing the squads and making them yearn for the battle to come. Well, what are you waiting for?"

Cortha hastily opened his vox to declare, "Brothers the greenskins approach, bringing savagery and fury with them. They think to find us unprepared, they think us weak, but they know not what they face. We are the Emperor's Finest and His word is our command. It is His will that we shall dispense death to the Xenos wherever they may lurk. Thus He spoke: Suffer not the alien to live!"

"Suffer not the alien to live!" the squads roared and Furion held it to be an adequate speech. Cortha might have the fire after all but he really needed to buck up his ideas.

At that moment Arvael hissed, "They're coming" and Furion turned his gaze downwards. The shaft was illuminated by stablights from the Space Marines, revealing a wide tunnel layered with pipes, ladders and hoisting gear. It was strangely disorientating to look upon in zero gravity, swirling before the eyes to go from a vertical hole to a long tunnel but Furion mastered it with consummate ease. What was far more disconcerting was the sudden bulge of shadows that birthed monstrous forms.

One second there was shadow and the next there was a solid wall of green flesh, Orks charging up the lift at headlong speed. They were filthy creatures, covered in leather rags and hanging bandoliers jammed with fat bullets and crude stick-bombs. They had blunt faces, with heavy jaws that sprouted tusks and fangs at random. Beady eyes stared from under heavy brows, filled with hatred and their limbs were swollen with obscene muscles. They were coming up the bottom, top and sides of the lift, clinging onto every surface via boots that were covered in spikes and crampons.

It was a most unnerving sight, Orks charging up every surface, cleavers and pistols waving in eagerness to engage. Their mouths were wide open and they were roaring a bestial war-cry, strangely echoing in the thin atmosphere. It seemed impossible that such brutal and massive bodies could be sustained by the wisps of air present, surely they should suffocate and die, but their strange physiology let them thrive in the harshest of environments and they seemed not to be affected in the slightest.

Furion saw the Orks charging and he cried "Fire!" Instantly the surrounding Astartes opened up with a thunderous salvo, shooting blazing rounds into the depths of the lift. Mass-reactive shells soared away on contrails of fire and missiles left smoking wakes behind as they flew into the packed masses, exploding to shower razor-sharp frag everywhere. The Orks were hit hard by the barrage, limbs were blown off and bodies ruptured, spilling Xeno blood that hung weightlessly in mid-air. Furion saw the rounds striking home, injuring many Orks, but they pressed on regardless, ignoring their own wounds as if they didn't care they were missing arms and legs.

Furion snarled in frustration, the rookies in the ranks were treating this like a firing range, where a single hit would end a target. He realised that too many of them had spent their scout years fighting rebellions and heretics; they had not fought Orks before. Furion lifted his voice and cried, "Focus Brothers, these are no weaklings. It takes a lot to put down an Ork, concentrate your fire!"

The Astartes responded smoothly, switching from single shots per target to bursts of rounds. Each Ork was inundated with fire and at last they began to fall. Green bodies were blown open, left hanging limply from the walls or knocked free to float aimlessly in mid-air. The squads were at last making a real impact on the oncoming mob but the Orks didn't seem to care. The biggest and strongest among them charged on, bashing aside their dead kin as they ran right into the teeth of the defender's fire, wilfully ignoring the devastating barrage.

Furion saw them closing and realised combat was seconds away. For a moment he considered raising his Crozius and calling upon its power. Storm-Heart was an ancient relic of the Chapter, an arcane weapon with a unique stutter-field generator. It could function as a regular Crozius or operate at higher frequencies, producing various debilitating energy effects. Yet as Furion looked upon the Orks he realised they could not be slowed by blinding lights nor sonic interference, they would come on regardless. But thankfully Furion had another option.

Furion lifted his other hand and with a firm squeeze he triggered his Storm bolter and the twin-barrelled weapon roared into life, spraying bolt rounds at a prodigious rate. The recoil was stupendous, making any notion of accuracy laughable, but such weapons were not designed for precision. An assault weapon like this was meant to lay down an unstoppable torrent, filling the air with rounds. It took all of Furion's immense strength to hold the weapon steady as he panned it wildly back and forth. He saw the twin-trails of fire soar into the packed masses of Orks, blowing greenskin bodies apart with overwhelming power and he exulted at the carnage he was unleashing.

The Orks were falling in droves now, their numbers diminishing by the second and yet the survivors ran on regardless, cresting the lip of the lift with cleavers waving. Furion saw an Ork with one eye coming right at him and he hurriedly clamped his Bolter to his hip then took Storm-Heart in both hands. The Ork came right at him, surging over the lip of the lift with a pistol in one hand and large-meathook in the other. Furion felt blunt rounds pinging off his armour but he ignored the paltry shots as he concentrated on the oncoming hook.

The Ork roared as it swung for his head but Furion swayed back and the hook passed before his skull-helm without harm. The Ork was pulled off balance by the impetus of its own swing and at that moment Furion struck, cleaving off its arm with a single blow. The Ork looked almost comical as it stared at the stump of its own limb, dripping foul Xeno blood into the air but its other hand came up, bringing its pistol to bear. Furion didn't give it a chance to fire, ramming Storm-Heart into its gut so hard that he ended up face to face with the alien. The Ork gaped at him in disbelief and then Furion spat, "Die Xeno scum," as he dialled up his Crozius' energy field to release one massive burst of power.

The Ork exploded before his eyes, blowing apart to shower him in gore and entrails. Furion snarled as he wiped his eye lenses clean, seeing the battle unfold. He saw Memnos, standing at the edge of the lift with his chainsword roaring. He was decapitating Orks as they rose over the lip, chopping off heads one after another as regularly as clockwork. Meanwhile Cortha was swinging Dread-Hand at an Ork with thick plates bolted onto its flesh, the rivets driven right into its skin and muscles. Cortha hit it over and over, unable to penetrate the Mega-armour but every time Dread-Hand impacted the Ork would slow down, looking almost concussed by the Crozius' power. Seeing the Ork's confusion Cortha seized his opportunity and went for the head, imploding the skull with one mighty blast. The Ork went limp, hanging with its arms out then Cortha cried his triumph as he kicked it away and met the next Ork to climb out of the shaft.

Furion saw their line was holding and the Orks could not break through but then Arvael called upon his powers. The Librarian held out his hand for a moment and scores of tiny metal points flew out of the shaft into his palm. Furion was confused for a second until he realised that they were firing pins, torn from stick-bombs. A second later the lift-shaft shook under the violence of scores of grenades cooking off together, filling its length with devastating power. Furion's autosenses dimmed for a moment before the flash and then his sight returned. What he beheld was utter ruin, the entire shaft clogged with debris and broken bodies. Beefy limbs and shatter torsos were everywhere, intermixed with sheared off pipes and jagged metal plates. Here and there an Ork still moved, their brutal physiology still trying to drive them on but they were pinned, making for easy pickings.

This lift was secured but Furion could still hear fighting from elsewhere and knew the other squads were hard-pressed. He lifted his Crozius and ordered, "Sergeant Zeax, your squad shall hold this position and pick off the stragglers. Everyone else with me, let us teach these Orks to not deft the Emperor's Finest!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 4**

Across the backdrop of glittering stars ships moved, swarms of craft of all shapes and sizes. There were wallowing cargo barges and sleek patrol frigates, bulky mining vessels and hulking mineral processors, all jostling for space. Some of these craft would have been recognisable to any void farer of the Imperium but far more would not. Some boasted inhuman swooping lines and curves, some were jagged blade-craft and others seemed contorted into impossible shapes. There were craft that resembled vast spheres and others that trailed long streamers behind like jellyfish. This was the Diasporex in its full glory, busily working to strip the asteroids of their bounty.

Captain Horroway could see it all from the observation deck, situated fore of the bridge itself. From here she could see the length of the Bonaventure and her gaze lingered over its beauty. The cruiser was long and lean, with smooth lines that were uncluttered by the gargoyles and useless architecture most human ships bore in this ignorant age. In fact the Bonaventure predated most scows of the forty-first millennium by many thousands of years. She had been laid down in the Jovian Shipyards during the Great Exodus when Mankind first bestrode the stars.

Horroway drank in the sight of her vessel, admiring her power and speed. Horroway loved her vessel, right down to the last rivet, and it was her pride and joy to be Captain. In her reckoning the Bonaventure was the finest ship in the fleet, swift and responsive and so very eager. Her systems were festooned with Xenos upgrades, components coming from places as far away as the Halo stars and the Tau Empire. Horroway had sailed the length of the galaxy twice over, trading and exploring for the Diasporex and fighting too, there always seemed to be fighting. No matter where Horroway sailed war was waiting for her, ignorant Imperial ships, haughty Eldar pirates, Chaos monstrosities and of course Orks. The greenskin menace, the oldest and most bitter foe of the Diasporex, an enemy that never relented. Horroway tried not to hate anything, she wanted only to explore the galaxy in peace but the Orks made that impossible. There was not a corner of the galaxy they did not infest and the Captain had the scars to prove it.

Lost in thought Horroway's eyes lifted and she beheld the swarms of Diasporex ships, a product of the long-lost age of glory. Mankind had once sought to explore the stars, seeking friendship and peaceful cooperation but encounters with the Orks had resulted in devastating wars. Yet Humanity in that age had been able to tell the difference between aggressive and peaceful races and so the colony fleets had forged an alliance of many species, all seeking to survive in the face of the Greenskin menace. Eventually a great diversity of races came together around the original Terran colony fleets and they called themselves the Diasporex.

Horroway's thoughts were interrupted as a harsh snarl rang out, followed a second later by the synthetic words, "It's busy out there." The Captain glanced to the side to see her tactical officer, starlight glinting off his snout. Krang was a Tarellian, one of the infamous Dog-Soldiers. His mercenary clan had been in the employ of the Diasporex for so long they had practically become permanent members, though they argued differently. Krang was proud of his heritage but his dedication to this ship had seen him rise far.

Horroway drew in a breath and remarked, "This asteroid field is abundant with raw materials, we need this haul."

There was a flare of light behind her and then Numeta's voice rang out, "This system is most peculiar, a vagrant star passing perpendicular to the galactic plane. No planets to speak of, but they are so many mineral-rich asteroids that the wealth here exceeds calculation. The Diasporex could build a fleet of ships with these materials."

Horroway glanced at her Binaric crewman, taking in the glowing avatar. Humanity's history with A.I. had been catastrophic, and the Diasporex had been no exception, a terrible calamity that had ended with the extermination of the machine minds. Numeta's kind though had no connection with human history; they claimed to be self-evolved Binaric consciousness's. A sovereign digital-race, rather than man-made things. Nobody was quite sure how that was supposed to work but the Binaric beings had served flawlessly and without incident among the Diasporex for centuries and now were so familiar that few even thought about it.

Horroway nodded but commented, "We had best not linger too long, the Imperium won't like us trespassing in their system."

"Filthy Imperials," Krang snarled, "Always taking what isn't theirs."

Horroway understood his anger, the Tarellian homeworld had been wiped out by the hated Space Marines and they still bore bitter grudges. Thankfully they didn't hold the Diasporex responsible; the independent fleets had suffered grievous losses of their own to the Xenophobic Imperium and had done their best to avoid the superstitious zealotry of Terra's rule. Horroway replied sadly, "We won't overstay our welcome, we will get what we need and then we will leave this system. With the state of the galaxy right now they may never even know we were here."

That statement held more truth than any dared admit. The galaxy was split in twain by a calamity beyond measure, an outpouring of madness and horror on an unprecedented scale. Chaos had come and not only for the Imperium. The Diasporex had suffered the assaults of Chaos, only ancient secrets taught to them by the Eldar letting them avoid extinction, but many blamed the Imperium for unleashing total madness. Their gamble of mining a system so close to the Naval base at Tectum was born of desperation more than anything else.

Horroway had no love for the Imperium, she had sparred with Navy warships too many times to feel otherwise, but she bore no special hatred for them either. They were pitiable things, so blind and narrow-minded and quick to condemn their own. Horroway drew in a breath and said, "Don't waste your energy on them. The Imperium is finally collapsing, its days are numbered. Hating them is redundant; they need no help from us to die."

Yet Krang snarled, "I'd love to grind them under my claws, to make them weep as we break the skulls of their young, as they did ours. To see them grovel before our conquering armies."

Now he did go too far and Horroway snapped, "Don't talk like that, the Diasporex has no use for conquest and occupation. We sail the stars, free and unencumbered, leave the dirt grubbing for others."

Krang bared his throat in submission before the rebuke and Horroway consoled him, "I know its hard but look at the stars, they are ours. We have everything we need, the Imperium is nothing to us."

Numeta interjected, "It's an impractical suggestion anyway. The odds of the Diasporex winning a ground war with the Imperium are 0.0001%"

Everybody returned their gaze to the stars, where the Orreti Arsenal ship was sliding by, patrolling for lurking Orks. Then there was a snort of derision and the voice of Robar came forth, "Damn cowardly Lizards nearly cost us the battle."

Horroway sighed to herself, Mr Robar was a gifted engineer and skilled technologist, but he had a troubled past. She had picked him up at a rogue trade station, recognising his talents for machine craft. Robar had accepted all too readily, for he had been on the run from the Mechanicus. Horroway didn't know the full details, she knew he had been a lowly enginseer in the fleets of Mars and that the Tech-Priests wanted his head for some crime, but he wouldn't say what he had done to earn their ire. Robar claimed to have fled before they had caught him and spent years on the run, bartering his skills for passage on tramp ships and scows. Horroway was proud of how he had built a life for himself among the Diasporex but he had brought his Imperial prejudices with him and he didn't like non-humans much, present company excepted.

Horroway turned to Robar and said, "Chief, as much as I appreciate your skills, talk like that is not welcome. The Orreti might be new to the Diasporex but they have integrated well."

"Doesn't mean I trust them," Robar spat, "They're almost as bad as the walruses."

Now Krang turned to him and snarled, "Do not insult the Borlac, I would take one of them over a hundred Imperials. Those maniacs with their accursed Space Marines and tyrant Emperor."

Robar's face coloured at that, even after all these years he still couldn't shake off his religious awe of the Terran Emperor and he raised his fists saying, "Don't you speak that way of the Omnissiah!"

Horroway could see an argument breaking out and she snapped, "Stop it the pair of you! This is unbecoming, you all swore to respect our spirit of partnership. We are many species working for mutual benefit, not some anarchic scrum."

"But…" Robar spluttered.

Horroway hissed, "If you two can't be civil then keep out of each other's way. Get back to work… now!"

The pair of them lowered their heads in shame and then departed, leaving Horroway alone with the projection of Numeta. The Captain sighed, "I hate having to do that."

Numeta looked puzzled and said, "I don't understand organic prejudices at all."

"Its history," Horroway explained sadly, "Organics don't change as easily as you, our programming is ingrained deeply. Old hatreds fester, especially between species."

Numeta pursed her lips in curiosity to question, "What is a walrus anyway?"

"No idea," Horroway said, "But apparently Borlac resemble them."

Numeta assimilated this and then said, "The Orreti are reptilians and the Scythians… I actually don't know what they look like under those robes."

"Nobody does," Horroway affirmed, "They keep to themselves, but they fight well and follow orders, which is a rarity in the Diasporex."

Numeta affected the appearance of breathing in and then changed the subject saying, "If you're interested, the Mayflower is crossing the prow."

Horroway started and peered into the void, seeing a vast leviathan heaving into view. It crested the bow of the Bonaventure like a rising moon, all vast curvature and massive flanks. It was simply enormous, dwarfing every other vessel in the fleet and making even the massive Jupiter-class Battleships of the Diasporex look like minnows.

The Mayflower was an Earthseed class colony ship. Part vessel, part living biosphere and part shipyard, she was truly ancient and filled with technologies long-forgotten by the rest of humanity. Built into the rock of one of the Terran system's original asteroids, she was history itself brought to life. She had sailed the stars for twenty-five millennia, seeing empires fall and rise and fall again on her eternal voyage. Horroway had been born on that vessel and held it to be as close to home as she could get. She had once laid eyes upon an Eldar Craftworld and in concept the Mayflower mirrored that design, though being far less beautiful and much smaller. But unlike those arcane voidcraft the Mayflower was Warp-Capable, able to sail the stars unimpeded by relativity.

The Mayflower was one of only a handful of such vessels left in existence and they never travelled together. The Diasporex had learned bitter lessons against concentrating their people together and had divided into nomadic groups, never gathering enough numbers to draw attention and provoke enemies. Horroway never failed to be stirred by the sight of the Mayflower and her eyes caressed the ancient craft, taking in its bulk and might with awe.

Her reverie was interrupted by a soft cough and she turned to see D'ras waiting to speak. D'ras was a Tau, one of the Air Caste, born to sail the void. He had been part of the ill-fated fifth sphere expansion, which had been lost in the Warp. D'ras had seen firsthand the Daemons that has assailed the unprepared Tau fleet, witnessing horrors his Ethereal overlords claimed couldn't exist. Horroway had dragged hundreds of Tau out of the wreckage of their craft when it was spat back into realspace. With no way home and no purpose the Tau had joined the Diasporex wholeheartedly, but every one of them was scarred by the experience and their eyes hid a terrible fear.

Horroway addressed him saying, "Is there something the matter?"

D'ras bowed stiffly and stated, "High Senator Acham is on the Hyperlight comm, he wants to speak to you."

Horroway started and said, "Damn, I can't keep him waiting. I'll take it in my ready room, you're in command until I get back."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 5**

With a sprint in her step Horroway hurried across the command deck, passing various crewmen. There were some humans, but also many other races. Tau, Deimurg, Gykon, Tushepta, Felinid, Jokaero and many more. Normally the sight of so disparate a crew, all working for a common goal, would affirm the Captain's belief in the justness of the Diasporex's way of life. Here was proof that alien races could and should work together, that they were better together than apart. Yet today she had no time to hail her crew and hurried past them, making her way aft.

Soon Horroway had circumnavigated the bridge and arrived at her ready room, a small area set aside for the Captain to work on administrative tasks and hold confidential talks without leaving the bridge area. Like all Captains she had personalised it, the walls held paintings of the waterfalls of Traskhea and the Graildark Nebula while in one corner was an Eldar sculpture, whose subtle lines could hold the eye for hours. There were more functional items too, a desk, a small food dispenser and a couch for napping on. In truth she spent more time here than in her quarters, always feeling edgy when she was too far from the nerve centre of her ship. Mr Robar had once jested that if she put a bed in here then they would never be able to prise her away from the bridge.

This was a familiar and comfortable space for her, but what drew her eye was the far wall, which was totally abnormal. Instead of the customary blank wall there was a large and open office space, far more sumptuous and airy than her cramped ready room. It was a most peculiar sight, there was no obvious transition point, no sudden change, the rooms merely seemed to flow into each other as if the designer had meant it to be that way.

It wasn't real of course; this was merely a projection from the heart of the Mayflower, sent via quantum-pulse beacons. The Diasporex had reverse engineered ancient ruins found on long-dead worlds, uncovering startlingly advanced communication and transportation devices. They had never been able to duplicate the interstellar site-to-site teleport functions but the discovery had revolutionised their communication and navigation systems. Proving far faster and more reliable then erratic Astropathy or Navigator blood-lines.

The only real drawback was the staggering cogitator processing power needed to make it work. Most ships had only a limited text-only transmitter, but the Mayflower had the processing power to make the complete system work. None doubted that if the Imperium knew of the existence of such a system they would instantly go to war over it, for it freed the user from the vagaries of the Warp in so many ways. Personally Horroway considered using the system over such short distances an extravagance, a simple vox would suffice at this range, but then the office's occupant had never been averse to extravagance.

Horroway's eye immediately went to a man of average height, who was standing with his back to her. He was looking out of his office window, a vista of green trees and parks and he seemed to know she was here for he said, "You have kept me waiting Captain."

Horroway drew herself to attention and replied, "Apologies Senator Acham, I was tending to my ship and crew."

The man growled, "And your crew take precedence over a Senator's summons?"

Horroway replied firmly, "Yes, every time."

The man turned slowly about with a glower but then a wide grin broke out over his face and he said, "Good girl, absolutely correct."

Horroway grinned back and said, "Uncle Jan, how are you?"

The man loosened up and said, "Same as ever Janna, old and worn out."

Horroway shook her head and retorted, "You don't look a day older, you never do."

Senator Acham accepted the compliment with a wry smile. He stepped across his office letting Horroway examine him. Acham was a man of middling height, but with a firm build under his grey tunic. He was bald, with a sharp nose and a rich voice that commanded respect from all. Acham was one of those men who looked mature in his youth and stayed looking that way right into old age, though subtle juvenat work had surely helped.

As he walked to a large desk Horroway had a chance to examine his office, seeing his love of art and history laid bare. There were ancient statues and paintings of ships he had served on. Stuffed exotic animals from across the galaxy were mounted on plinths, and he had a small selection of reading material on shelves. Outside his window was the primary biosphere of the Mayflower, a green sphere ten miles wide. Here thousands of people lived and played as comfortably as they would on a planet's surface, regardless of the fact that they could look up and see people standing upside down above them.

Acham settled behind his desk and said, "Do you mind if I…"

"By all means," Horroway replied.

Acham turned to a small floating dish, a refurbished Tau drone and said, "Tanna, Valhallan, hot."

As the device went to fetch the beverage Horroway turned to her own dispenser and ordered a recaff, a far less luxurious item than the rare trade luxury. The Captain settled onto her couch and asked, "How are things in the Senate?"

Acham replied grimly as the Tanna was brought to him in a bowl, "Endless debate, old feuds, arguments galore and threats: same old, same old."

Horroway shook her head and said, "What is it this time?"

Acham sighed, "The Orreti Matriarchs don't think we're giving them access to enough technology, they want more."

"More," Horroway spluttered, "After the palaver over getting them to fit guns to their arsenal ships? They refused point blank to accept our advice; they thought their drone technology was innately superior, right up till the Orks took out three ships in the battle at the Hemasta Nova."

"Well they've changed their tune, but on the bright side we've finally convinced them to share their decoy-drone design," Acham explained, "Unfortunately now the Borlac say with their growing population they deserve more votes in the Senate."

Horroway felt a headache coming on, the Diasporex operated as a proportional democracy, each nomad group establishing their own senate with total independence. It was fair and egalitarian but also caused real problems. She sighed, "Is it true?"

Acham frowned and commented, "Don't be naive, truth doesn't matter here. The Borlac want to be steering our course, they don't think its fair that humans have so much say."

Horroway started, "But we have almost as many members as the other races put together! How can that be unfair?"

Acham looked at her directly and said, "That's the fire I need on my side. When are you going to get off that ship and come join me here?"

Horroway knew this was an old argument but she tried to laugh it off, "They can take me off my bridge when I am dead."

Acham wasn't amused and stated, "You're too senior to be commanding a mere cruiser. With your experience you should be commanding a Jupiter class, why the Hera herself could be yours. From the flagship it's a short step to the Senate."

Horroway couldn't imagine anything worse and snorted, "What; spend my days flying patrols around the Mayflower? No thanks."

Acham looked sad as he said, "I worry about you Janna, since your mother passed…"

Now it was Horroway's turn to frown, she and the senator were distantly related. She was certain it had no bearing on her rise to command, well almost certain, but she didn't like to be bound down. She liked the freedom to steer her own course and had no interest in becoming a senator. Horroway changed the subject saying, "Was there a point to this talk other than social chitchat?"

Acham glared at her but relented and said, "Actually, I have a mission for you, something very sensitive."

That piqued Horroway's interest and she said, "Sounds great, what is it?"

Acham leaned back and sipped his Tanna and then said, "As you know our recent losses have been devastating. The fleet is at half-strength and we have little prospect of replacing our losses."

"I know," Horroway stated, "That's why we need these asteroids so badly."

Acham looked uncomfortable as he admitted, "I'm afraid it's worse than you know, the materials we've gathered here are critical but building a ship isn't fast work, it will take centuries to replace our losses. So the Senate has agreed to take some shortcuts, drastic ones."

Horroway didn't like the sound of this and inquired, "How so?"

Acham looked uneasy and said, "We struck a deal, we were going to exchange half our raw materials for finished ship parts and other items… with a Rogue Trader."

Now Horroway understood his distress, Rogue Traders were Imperials but not normal ones. They were licensed to trade and explore as they will, even consort with Xenos, untouchable by writ of Imperial law. They were sanctioned to do all the things Imperials weren't supposed to do and were permitted to get away with it. They were devious, untrustworthy and always looking out for themselves. The Diasporex had an understanding with many of them but associating with Imperials in any fashion was a source of internal discontent, the Senate must be truly desperate to consider such a thing.

Acham continued, "We had arranged to meet with a Rogue Trader named Saffor Rodoth Teliday, to conduct the exchange but then things got… complicated."

Horroway had been half-expecting this and said, "Let me guess: the Borlac protested."

Acham looked distraught as he said, "Worse, our long-range sensors detected this."

He pressed a button on his desk and a hololith of the system sprang up. It was a swirling mass of asteroids, flaring green with Ork infestations. Horroway gasped in shock at what she beheld: the entire system was infested with Greenskins, far more than she ever imagined. The tiny corner the Diasporex had cleared was surrounded by Orks on all sides. But it got worse when she spotted an errant blip and said, "What is that?"

"That is our biggest problem," Acham answered grimly, "We picked this up and sent a stealth probe to investigate. Simply put, it's a Space Hulk, one of prodigious size and power."

Horroway shuddered, a Space Hulk was a massive conglomeration of ships, as big as the Mayflower but far more deadly. The Orks excelled at weaponising such craft and if they brought one to bear against the Diasporex in its weakened state the nomads wouldn't stand a chance. There were no two ways about it, the Diasporex was in trouble.

Horroway uttered, "We can't fight that, are we planning to flee?"

"We can't," Acham said, "We desperately need this haul but we can't survive a fight with that either, not alone."

Horroway caught the implication and said, "You want the Rogue Trader to sign up for a fight?"

"Him and any other Imperials he can drag in," Acham confirmed.

"That's a tall order," Horroway stated in an epic understatement, "Rogue Traders don't care for anyone but themselves, he won't help."

Acham was grim as he said, "Then you must convince him."

"Me?" Horroway started.

Acham replied, "Yes I'm putting you in command of a convoy. Take your squadron and escort our trade ships to the rendezvous point. Once there convince this Teliday and his allies to sign up for taking out that hulk. Use whatever means you require, persuasion, bribery, threats, blackmail, but make this happen. Oh and bring back the trade goods, we still need them."

Horroway had no idea how to begin such a task but said, "I'm in command then, no backtalk from the other Captains?"

"Yes you're in command, the other races have agreed," Acham answered, "But keep this quiet, if word gets out we are working with Imperials, it will cause a riot."

Horroway nodded and said with more confidence than she felt, "I'll get this done."

"I know you will, good hunting," Acham replied, then he cut the link and his office faded away until only a blank wall was left.

Horroway leaned back and breathed for a moment and then said, "Numeta?"

The synthetic voice came back, "Aye Captain?"

Horroway ordered, "Call the senior officers to my ready room, they should hear this from me."

Then she gulped down her recaff and grimaced. This was going to be a tough sell and she knew Krang was going to explode when he heard the plan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 6**

The Thunderhawks burst through the atmospheric shield into the landing bay, retro rockets blazing as they braked hard. The Gunships hit the deck, landing claws spitting sparks as they skittered over the plasteel surface. Their hulls streamed with the cold of the void and ice formed over their fuselages as they came to a stop so harsh it would have snapped mortal bones. As always the Chapter's pilots held that if they didn't fly with the throttles jammed firmly into the red then there wasn't any point taking off. After a moment gaggles of serfs and Servitors came trundling forward, bringing fuel hoses and soothing unguents with them. They dashed to the warming gunships and set to their duties, appeasing the craft's spirits and tending their woes. Meanwhile the assault ramps slammed down, disgorging Astartes Initiates from within.

Furion stepped off the ramp of his gunship and set foot on the deck of the Thunderchild as he gazed about. Everywhere he looked Storm Heralds were forming up in ranks, crisp and eager in their movements. Furion was encouraged by their jubilant spirits and keen devotion. The fighting against the Orks in the space station had worked wonders on their morale, forging a bond between the new blood and the older veterans. They had fought every inch of the way to the station's cogitator cores and then back out again, killing everything they found. Furion held it to be a good start but he was not yet satisfied that the Third was truly united; it would take much more than this skirmish to test the Astartes.

Furion saw the Initiates forming up into ranks before Captain Toran, who was making an address but he turned his head away. His duties lay elsewhere and they led him to the furthest Thunderhawk, where Servitor lifters were unloading pallets bearing the slain. The dead were being carried with utmost respect, to be interred and have their armour and weapons collected for return to the Forges. Furion heard footsteps behind him and knew Cortha was following his steps but he kept his eyes fixed ahead as he saw Memnos emerging from the gunship.

Furion saw the Apothecary tending to an IV bag and deduced some of the lost were merely comatose, sustained by healing comas for later revival. It was one of the most remarkable aspects of Astartes physiology, a Space Marine was hard to put down but nine times out of ten would be up and fighting again within days. How else could a Chapter of a mere one thousand warriors survive?

Furion marched up to Memnos and briskly said, "What is the tally?"

Memnos glanced backwards and replied, "Four in healing comas, two dead."

Furion accepted this but Cortha spat, "Damned Orks, a swift death was too good for them."

But Furion admonished him, "Do not let your fury lead your head, they are dead, nothing else matters."

Memnos looked at them and then said, "Don't you want to go make some speeches?"

Furion shook his head at the rude comment and said, "Duty first, respect must be given to the dead."

Furion removed his helm and knelt by the corpses slung between two servitors. Two Brothers, Porvia and Wiolan, both from the same squad. He noted the marks where their gene-seed had been harvested as he took a jar of sacred oil from his belt and anointed their foreheads saying, "Your fight is over and your deaths were laudable, your passing shall be entered in the Scrolls of Honour and the Emperor shall know your names."

There was a moment's silence and then Cortha said, "Can we go now?"

Furion rose and angrily barked, "Brothers are dead, show respect! Fourth squad has just lost two of their own, their grief will be deep. You should be speaking with them, consoling their loss and assuring them it was not vain. Well, get on with it."

Cortha bowed in apology and took off, leaving Furion exasperated. Cortha's zeal was admirable and he could turn a fiery phrase but his lack of concern for his pastoral duties was grating. He would never make the mark at this rate. Furion realised Memnos was staring at him and the Chaplain hissed, "What are you looking at?"

Memnos was silent for a moment then remarked, "Not like you to be so harsh on a youngster."

Furion's eye glanced at Memnos' Chains of Shame and his lip curled as he spat, "Keep your opinions to yourself."

Thankfully any reply was cut off as Librarian Arvael ran up to them, the Third dispersing out of the bay behind him. The Psyker called out, "Furion, the Captain wants you to join him, he's waiting by the transit tube."

Furion was glad of the news and set off, headed for one of the transport tubes that threaded through the Astartes' ship. Arvael came with him, leaving Memnos behind with the wounded. They soon reached the tube and found Toran with the Command Squad, awaiting conveyance. They were talking among themselves but Furion was in no mood for idle chat and waited silently until the capsule arrived to whisk them away.

Once on board they were carried deeper into the bowels of the great ship, rising slightly as they ascended towards the bridge. After a few minutes travel Brother Persion sighed loudly and asked, "So what's this about?"

Toran answered, "We have accomplished the first half of our mission, we know what happened to the Dulcis system but the Ork infestation is greater than we feared. Hevostan will have to examine the Logic-Engines but we already know this system is overrun."

At that Jediah spoke up, "So? Let the Navy handle it, why is it our problem?"

Arvael stepped in and corrected him, "The Navy is badly overstretched, they are fighting on all fronts. Their losses were catastrophic in the Noctis Aeterna and they struggle to rebuild. The docks of Tectum can't keep up with demand; they are crippled by a lack of resources. The Navy needs the wealth of this system to rebuild their fleets but they can't mine the materials without the fleets, so that leaves us."

Furion affirmed that, "Chapter Master Phalros was unequivocal that we shall offer our full and unconditional aid. You know he has decreed that there shall be no vacillation or diffidence in our support of Terra's rule. Frankly this is a desperately needed opportunity to restore our good relations; the Chapter was on the verge of being declared Excommunicate Traitoris and that was before our civil war."

Toran nodded and said, "That brings us to the second half of our orders, we need to go inform Legatus Vevara about what we discovered."

Sneers arose and Novak muttered, "Bureaucrats make my sword hand long for a blade."

Jediah agreed, "A warship is no place for a tax-collector. What were the Administratum thinking sending us one?"

"Enough," Furion scolded them, "Chapter Master Phalros has given us orders to protect the envoys of Terra and to offer any and all assistance to their tasks. We shall not shame the Chapter in this; we need to show our good intentions."

Silence fell as the capsule ascended and within a minute it had reached the command deck. Toran led them out and proceeded straight to the main Strategium, marching straight in without preamble. It was a vast hall with rising rings of seats, enough to host three whole Companies if necessary but today it was almost deserted. Only two mortals awaited them, standing at the bottom of the arena. Toran led them down the steps towards the mortals, passing busts of the Storm Herald's greatest heroes.

As they walked Furion had a chance to examine the pair. Both mortals wore the green robes of the Administratum but otherwise were as different as night and day. The first was wizened and hunchbacked, borne over by the weight of an abacus upon his chest. He wheezed slightly and looked like one shove would shatter his spine. Furion thought him to be absolutely typical of the doddering Adeptus Terra, but he was not in charge here. This was Prefectus Sadik, and he was very much the junior of the pair.

The real authority here was Legatus Vevara, whose mandate hung from her belt in wax scroll cases that bore the seals of Terra. She was a surprisingly young woman, in robust health and athletic trim. Her features were round, with pouty lips, cropped black hair and epicanthic folds around her eyes. She was short, even for a mortal but looked confident, as if she wasn't surrounded by Transhuman giants who could break her in half. She was totally unlike Furion's expectation of a Tithe-Adept but as a Legatus she carried the weight and authority of Terra's judgement.

Vevara didn't wait for them to reach her but called out, "You're late!"

Furion bristled but thankfully Toran's diplomatic skills were better and he answered, "We apologise, the Ork presence was considerable."

"So it's confirmed," Vevara stated, "Orks took over the system?"

"Tragically yes," Toran stated, "We cleansed the processing station but more must surely be out there."

Wheezily Prefectus Sadik expounded, "The Orks have always been a problem, since this system was discovered the Greenskins have harried mining efforts here. The star is a type-G but moving at an odd angle across the galactic plane. Theories suggest it passed through the Serreti Stellas, destroying any planetary bodies, but capturing trillions of rogue asteroids. Mining clans have been struggling for productivity for millennia but the Orks made fixed operations impossible. Mining ships were forced to relocate constantly; the mineral processing station was the only permanent fixture in the system."

"Thank you for that," hissed Vevara in icy tones that conveyed she wasn't at all grateful, "Were there any survivors?"

Toran grimly explained, "Our Techmarine will have to examine the records, but we can safely assume there are none. The Orks surely wiped out any human presence during the Noctis Aeterna, this system is for all intents and purposes lost."

"Well that won't do," Vevara retorted wrinkling her dainty nose, "The shipyards of Tectum are screaming for raw material, we need those asteroids back."

Furion was annoyed by her cavalier attitude and growled, "Without a full Navy task-force that will be challenging. What do you suggest we do?"

Legatus Vevara smirked smugly, in a way that from a Brother would have been an incitement to an honour duel, and stated, "We have a plan."

Sadik spat, "Are you really sure this is wise?"

But Vevara overruled him, "We have contacted a certain Rogue Trader and offered him a lucrative contract to mine the system for us. In exchange for certain trade goods Saffor Rodoth Teliday has agreed to bring his private flotilla and gather materials for us."

Furion grimaced at that, Rogue Traders were unorthodox and non-conformist by nature, most serious denunciations in the hidebound Imperium. They flouted Ecclesiarchical doctrine and consorted with vile Xenos breeds, soiling the purity of the human form. The Storm Heralds held them to be degenerates and impious ne'er-do-wells, protected only by Charters of free passage that oft predated all but the most hallowed Chapters.

While Furion had been thinking this Toran stated, "What do you want us to do?"

Vevara answered, "There is a trade convoy breaking warp as we speak, it needs an escort. You will take me to this convoy and delivery it to Teliday, so I can oversee the exchange."

Furion didn't like that tone, they didn't take commands from the Administratum, but unfortunately they had been instructed to offer assistance and their orders brooked no leeway. Toran however said warily, "I trust you do not expect us to impugn our honour by consorting with a Xeno-lover?"

Vevara shrugged off the concern with a wave of a manicured hand and said, "Fret not; the Inquisition already has a man embedded with Teliday. He will make sure nothing improper occurs."

Furion found the idea of an Inquisitor thrown into the mix to be anything other than reassuring but he stated, "Escort some ships, make an exchange and get out with the bounty. Captain, it sounds straightforward and shall not sully our honour."

Toran nodded at the advice and said, "Very well Legatus, the Storm Heralds shall be your escort."

"Good," Vevara exclaimed, "This one haul should feed the shipyards for a solar year and once we have the fleet back to full strength we can return and clear this system out for good."

Toran nodded but secretly Furion was concerned, he was sure that the mission was important but he didn't like all the factors at play. Orks, Rogue Traders, a Legatus and now the Inquisition: as far as he was concerned this mission couldn't be over soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 7**

In space nothing was fixed, that was a universal truth. Galaxies wheeled endlessly onwards, stars cruised through void and planets orbited stars as they spun on their own axis. Comets and asteroids and debris drifted sanguinely in the cold night as stray atoms were drawn away by distant gravity fields. Nothing ever stayed the same and in a densely packed stellar system like this that made Navigation a nightmare.

Across the endless reaches of the void, a convoy of cargo barges picking their way past tumbling asteroids and flaring comets. They were simple ships, little more than engine blocks attached to cockpits with huge cargo pallets strung from spinal ridges. That was a deliberate choice, for the Diasporex knew well who they were going to meet and in this instance giving little outwards appearance of unorthodox designs was a good idea.

Slowly the convoy proceeded, picking their way with extreme care. This was essential, for dangers lurked everywhere, most especially Orks. The Convoy had no desire to tangle with the Greenskins so they took a circuitous route, avoiding suspicious concentrations of asteroids and staying well beyond sensor range of roving Ork patrols. The convoy relied upon secrecy but it was not wholly unprotected. Around the cargo ships a squadron of Diasporex warships cruised. There was an arsenal ship, vaguely resembling a flat oval, it was covered in odd protuberances and smaller clusters of pods that hung off long struts. It was surrounded by gaggles of zooming drones: recon platforms and fast interceptor-drones, all scanning the void with accuracy the crude Imperium could only dream of. The Drones were a source of pride for their makers but hard experience had shown that combat was an unpredictable place and the ship bore a few prow guns and a single Meson-Beamer for close combat.

At the rear of the convoy prowled a pair of Gun-Brigs and they were a study in contrast to their larger companion. These ships were squat and blunt-nosed, being little more than engines and forests of prow guns. They were covered in layers of heavy armour and their silhouettes were aggressive and predatory. These were the brawlers of the Diasporex fleet, designed to get in close and wreak havoc, though experience had proved the need for flexibility and so they too boasted lone Meson-beamers.

Sweeping the perimeter were five small sloops, moving in regular patterns. These boasted a pair of upswept recurved wings, making them look avian in nature but their guns and prow Meson-beamers made it clear they were predators of the void. The escort frigates circled the convoy relentlessly, ever wary for threats.

But it was at the head of the convoy that the proudest ship of all sailed, the Bonaventure, leading her squadron like a mother hen. She was a majestic sight; her clean lines and sleek hull making it look like she was skipping along. Her drives blazed like captured stars, driving her ever forward with grace and power. She was a voidfarer's vision of loveliness, but today her Captain had no time for such pleasant thoughts. In her ready room Captain Horroway was having an argument, facing down a circle of flickering Hololith images. These were her fellow Captains, communicating over vox as none of their ships could manage the quantum-pulse system alone.

Horroway faced them down and calmly said, "This changes nothing."

One of the images stirred, an upright lizard-like creature with six limbs and glossy skin twitched its long tail and hissed, "It changez everything." This was S'sner, the senior Orreti, like all commanders of her race she was female, the males being diminutive and of low intelligence.

Horroway faced her and replied, "It is a complication but we have to proceed anyway, our orders were clear."

S'sner twitched again in agitation and hissed, "We will not be party to thiz, they cannot be truzted."

Horroway was irritated but knew she couldn't snap back, the Orreti were new to the Diasporex and their matriarchs were more interested in acquiring technology than cooperation. Horroway drew in a breath and said, "I don't trust them, but we need them. The Imperials have the firepower we lack."

A deep rumble came back, from an eight-foot creature that was almost round saying "Typical, hewmans always side with hewmans". He was covered in layers of blubber, so thick as to be impervious to las-shots and from a wide maw protruded two immense tusks. This was Deesh, the Borlac leader, a brutal thinker but in no way unintelligent. His people were agitating for more influence and so Horroway needed to assert her authority.

Horroway faced him directly and said, "Do you suggest I am disloyal to the Diasporex?"

Deesh rumbled, "Hewmans think they are better than everybody else."

Horroway wanted to refute the point but knew the best way to deal with a Borlac was to be equally brusque and she barked, "I am in command here and I make the decisions. Do not challenge me or I shall beat you in a duel of succession!"

The idea of a mere human besting a Borlac in unarmed combat, as their rulership challenges demanded, was farcical but Deesh blinked at the rebuke. Then he snorted in a laugh and proclaimed, "Very well Hewman, lead and I shall follow."

Horroway breathed easier but then a shrill voice said, "Then what shall-shall we do?" This came from a creature half the Captain's size, covered in thick robes from which poked the tip of a scaly tail. This was Znuch, the Scythian envoy, nobody knew what rank he held but he spoke for his race. In fact nobody knew much of the Scythians, they kept themselves to themselves. They were flightily and unpredictable creatures, always ready to switch sides in a debate but when presented with firm leadership they obeyed to the letter.

Horroway faced him and declared, "We shall meet the Imperials as planned and convince them that it is in their own interest to destroy the Orks."

Znuch twitched and replied, "Listen they will not, attack us they will."

Horroway shook her head and said, "The Imperials are blinkered and ignorant but they aren't stupid. That space hulk is a threat to them as much as it is us. Neither of us can defeat it alone but together…"

Znuch shivered and said, "Even if we win-win they will turn on us. Betray us, they will."

"We won't give them that opportunity," Horroway disclosed "The second the hulk is dead we depart and leave them to the ruins. We will be out of this system before they can muster a pursuit."

S'sner interjected, "You are zure thiz will work?"

"Trust me," Horroway said, "I can convince them, just hang back and let me do the talking and by the Galactic maw, don't pick a fight."

The Hololiths made gestures of assent and then they cut off, leaving the ready room empty. Horroway sighed, politics made her head hurt but it had to be borne. She made her way over to the desk and sat down heavily. She toyed with the idea of ordering a recaff but then decided to get this over with. She lifted her voice and said, "Numeta, call all senior officers to my ready room."

Horroway sank back and waited and it wasn't long before the door chimed and opened to admit her officers. Numeta floated at the back but others sat as the Captain looked them over. These were her most trusted crew and she knew how upset they had been when she told them the plan, but it was about to get worse. She was going to drop a bombshell and knew they would hate every bit of it.

Horroway drew in a breath and uttered, "There's no easy way to say this so I will simply tell you the facts. Look here."

She activated a small Hololith on her desk, which projected a plot of the system as she explained, "We are here, the Rogue Trader is here and the Imperial Convoy is over here, a lot closer to the rendezvous than we are. We were wary of traps, so I had the Orreti dispatch a stealth-drone to scan them and that's when we uncovered this.

The display zoomed in and focused upon one ship, a most peculiar vessel. It didn't quite match anything else, being larger than a cruiser but smaller than a battleship. Compared to the Bonaventure it was astonishingly ugly, being plated in heavy armour and covered in racks of guns, yet it looked like it could take a battering and give out twice as much in return. Horroway was proud of her own vessel but certainly didn't fancy their chances in a brawling match with that hideous contraption.

Krang rumbled, "That is one ugly piece of crap."

D'ras scowled saying, "I've never seen the like."

Robar leaned in and said, "I have, that's a Grand Cruiser. Amazing, I didn't think any were still extant outside the Navy reserve depots."

"It's not a Navy ship," Horroway corrected him, then she dropped her bombshell, "We analysed her signals and discovered it belongs to the Space Marines."

"Space Marines!" Krang yelled, rising up out if his seat, "Butchers and murders all! They are the Tyrant-Emperor's attack dogs; they do nothing but kill. They will attack us on sight."

Horroway raised her hand's palm up and said, "I know it's a risk but it's also an opportunity. We need allies to take on the Orks, who could be more effective than Space Marines?"

Robar shook his head and said, "I think you are underestimating their fanatical hatred and xenophobia. I know how Imperials think; they would never side with us. They are incapable of anything but hatred and will not rest until everything that does not conform to their ideals is dead."

Yet D'ras countered, "The Gue'ron'sha are strong warriors but not totally without perspective, when confronted by a superior foe. They fought alongside the Tau to hold back the Tyranid fleets, though they never accepted subsequent offers of peace."

"They won't listen," Robar argued, "They will hunt us down and kill every non-human they can catch, then drag away the humans to internment camps. They will torture and brainwash the survivors, converting them into perfect little Imperial zealots or killing any who refuse to comply. But the worst part is that they will congratulate themselves for doing so, they will think that they have done a good thing."

Numeta spoke up to say, "I'm not happy either, I know what the Imperium does to synthetic life. But what choice do we have? We need their strength; we can't survive against the Orks alone."

Yet Krang spat, "I won't do it, I won't fight beside the Space Marines who destroyed my homeworld."

"Yes you will," Horroway barked, "This is not up for debate, we have our orders and you will comply. The Rogue Trader has guaranteed our delegation's safety, he won't allow them to hurt us. We can at least talk to them."

Robar muttered, "A Rogue Trader, stopping a Space Marine from doing anything he pleases… you must be joking."

Horroway glossed over the interruption saying, "The key is to present them with a mutual enemy, we need to convince them that the Ork hulk is a direct threat to their Imperium. The Diasporex has never menaced their worlds; even they must see that we are no danger compared to that."

Krang's scales went a deep green in anger but he checked his ire and growled, "In that case, I recommend keeping the Bonaventure well back when we meet, if they can get boarding parties into our hull we don't stand a chance."

Horroway consented, "Very well, I can take a shuttle over to meet with them. Keep the fleet back and run turret drills, there's no harming taking precautions."

There was a moment's pause and then D'ras spluttered, "Captain, you can't go in yourself. Let me go in your place."

Krang agreed, "This is unacceptable, I can't allow this."

Yet Horroway countered, "This will be hard enough as it is, the Space Marines won't listen to any non-human. We need to put a human face on this proposal if it's to have any chance of working. It will be just me and the other Captains going over."

"Then let me send an honour guard," Krang pleaded.

"Guards won't make any difference," Robar muttered, "Not against Space Marines."

"He's right," Horroway agreed, "I will meet the Imperials face to face and plead our case. Once I explain the situation I am confident that these Space Marines will see reason."


	8. Chapter 8

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 8**

Furion squinted as he looked out the observation port, peering into the darkness of space. He was currently standing on the Thunderchild's prow, the great warship drifting slowly forwards on minimum power. The Imperial convoy had reached the rendezvous with the Rogue Trader unchallenged and now were closing together to formally meet. Third company was assembling in the landing bay to greet the Rogue Trader himself but Furion had taken a moment to come and view his vessel with his own eyes. Moments when a Space Marine could do something that wasn't directly related to war or ritual ceremony were few and far between and Furion made the most of them when they came.

He heard a deep sigh beside him and he glanced over to see Librarian Arvael squinting outwards. He was a strange one, the Psyker was young but his calling had aged him. His armour was covered in strange icons and scrolls hung from his belt alongside his Force-Morningstar. Arvael was eager but his gaze held sorrows and weariness. Furion didn't know what horrors he had beheld in his training but it had left an indelible mark on him and there was a cold judiciousness to him that lent him a dangerous air. Furion knew that the Librarian was loyal to the Chapter but he remained a Psyker and would never be completely accepted.

Arvael stared out at the distant ship and remarked, "What a peculiar design."

Furion turned his attention to the cruiser and commented, "Rogue Traders are notorious for modifying their ships, they call upon unorthodox means to adapt their vessels to suit their whims."

Arvael mused, "The Fortunes' Fool: an Ambition class vessel, slightly smaller than the Thunderchild but modified heavily. The armoured prow has been lightened, the torpedo tubes removed to add extra guns while many basic redundancies are absent. Some of the decks have even been stripped to make room for launch bays but they look small. She couldn't possibly support more than a few squadrons of fighters."

Furion was impressed, the Librarian's eyesight was sharp indeed, even to him the ship was little more than a blob at this range. He ventured, "Some whisper Rogue Traders incorporate Xenos technology into their hulls."

"Disgusting," Arvael spat in revulsion, "To sully noble Machine Spirits with sordid Xenos tech, why does the Imperium tolerate such things?"

Furion answered, "Rogue Traders are expected to roam far into the unknown and survive however they can. They operate alone for decades and they have to be capable of fending for themselves."

Arvael pointed out, "I see he's brought a couple of squadrons of escort frigates, ragged mercenaries by the look of them, frankly I don't rate their combat capacity. His only real warship is under gunned and brittle, we could break that ship in half with ease."

"We are Space Marines that is a given," Furion stated confidently, "But you're missing the point. That vessel is not a real warship, she is more like an armed freighter. Most of the internal space will be given over to holds and storage for riches rather than weapon magazines. Rogue Traders prefer to run away from anything they cant easily overpower."

Arvael noted with a frown, "We are supposed to be making an exchange but that one ship can't possibly hold all the material we are expecting."

Furion hadn't caught that and said, "That's a good point, where are his cargo ships? Where are the mining vessels?"

His questions were cut off by a soft footfall as someone approached. They were trying to be quiet but the hearing of a Space Marine was inhumanly sharp and Furion was aware of them before they entered the room. He half-turned to see who it was and was unsurprised to behold Legatus Vevara. She walked into the bay and pulled up sharply saying, "Oh, I didn't know anybody else would be here."

Furion faced the Administratum functionary and said, "We are observing the approach of the Rogue Trader's vessel."

Vevara replied, "I thought the same, I wanted to see it for myself."

"Very well," Furion said as he stepped aside, "What do you know of this Teliday?"

"Not much" Vevara stated peering through the armourglass, "They aren't one of the old dynasties, their Warrant is barely a millennium old and they barely ever come this deep into Imperial space. Throne, your eyes are sharp, it's barely a speck to me."

Arvael explained, "Legatus, in void terms this is extremely close range, to be visible to the naked eye is to be practically breathing down each other's necks. If we were in combat then we would be exchanging volleys with something smaller than a grain of sand."

Vevara glanced nervously at the stars and said, "Are we safe here? Won't the Orks find us?"

Furion and Arvael shared exasperated glances, the obliviousness of civilians to the realities of void-faring never abated. Wearily Furion explained, "Space is big and ships are only trackable by their energy emissions. So long as we stay out in deep space they could never find us, it's only when approaching specific locales that encounters become remotely likely. That's why most battles take place over planets, asteroids, Lagrangian points or Warp Translation sites."

Vevara glanced at him and said, "So your Chapter has experience at this? You partner with Rogue Traders often?"

Furion's lip curled as he corrected, "Space Marines do not partner with the likes of them. We make tactical pacts and strategic alliances, but only to achieve specific objectives. Our honour will not be sullied by the likes of them."

"Strange," Vevara commented, "Your Chapter has a reputation for unorthodox thinking and underhanded practices."

Now Furion was incensed and he growled, "Do not accuse the Storm Heralds of engaging in nefarious deeds."

Vevara looked irate now as she hissed, "And what of your trampling on Ecclesiarchy jurisdiction? Your preaching to conquered worlds, mass internments, proselytising and burning of the unrepentant?"

Furion's temper was fraying, not least because that was painfully close to the truth but he bit down hard on his first response and icily stated, "You will find such practices are in our past. Our new Chapter Master has no time for such trivial concerns, the battlefield is our shrine and the roar of bolters our hymns."

Thankfully at that point Arvael stepped in and said, "I see a shuttle approaching, we should make our way to the landing bay."

Vevara glared at Furion but then swept out imperiously. The Chaplain made to follow her but was stopped by Arvael's hand on his breastplate as the Librarian hissed, "With all due respect, be more cautious with your words."

Furion blinked in confusion and queried, "What do you mean?"

Arvael eyes narrowed as he explained, "She feigned innocence to get your guard down and then provoked a response to see your reaction, you gave her exactly what she wanted."

Furion shook his head in disbelief and said, "You are overthinking, she is a clerk and a fop."

Arvael growled, "No fop has mental defences like hers, she's been trained to resist mind scans. My probes hit a brick wall in her psyche. She's here for a reason I can't discern and you blundered right into her snare."

Furion was startled and said, "What are you saying?"

Arvael looked at him and said, "You've always been the stalwart one, but that stoicism hid a fierce and terrible anger. It's been your strength before but now it leads you astray. You've changed these last years Furion; you've lost your focus. Watch your wrath or it will consume you."

With that Arvael swept out, leaving the Chaplain to follow on in bewilderment. Could the Librarian have seen something in him? But then Furion snorted, Psykers were always foretelling some doom or another, the trick was to know when they were worth listening to. He put the moment of doubt behind him and made his way down to the landing bay.

Once there he found Third Company standing in orderly ranks, bolters held upright before them. The Chaplain made his way up to the Command squad, where Vevara was waiting and took his place next to Captain Toran. Toran glanced at him and said, "Thought you were going to miss it."

Furion checked his plate was in perfect order and replied, "A moment's delay, it is nothing."

Any further talk was cut off as a shuttle edged its way through the atmospheric field. It was a non-standard pattern with wide wings and a fat belly. The entire hull was a gaudy silver colour, with embellished engravings all over it. Yet that veneer of showmanship hid a pair of potent lascannons and hard points for missiles. This was no noble's pleasure yacht.

The shuttle settled down on a pad with a gust of steam and its engines cycled down as the wings rose up above it. The Space Marines stood rigidly as a ramp lowered to the deck to reveal a mortal. He was a broad man, with a muscled physique and a long braid of brown hair that hung down to his waist. He was dressed in pantaloons that were tucked into shin-high boots and a leather jacket with a short cape that hung jauntily off one shoulder. His face was open, with a ready smile and a sense of energy, like he about to go jogging.

Yet Furion's eye instantly went to the man's belt, where a pair of Eldar shuriken pistols hung. The Chaplain bristled at the flagrant exhibition of Xeno weaponry but there was nothing to be done as the man stepped onto the deck with a covetous gleam in his eye. He was followed by a lumbering Ogryn, with metal plates riveted into its skull but it seemed content merely to follow the man as he made his way past the waiting squads.

The man soon reached the Command squad and presented a florid bow saying, "Captain Toran I presume?"

Toran bowed his head saying, "Rogue Trader Teliday, we welcome you."

"Please, call me Saffor," the man replied with a grin but his eyes were on Vevara as he said, "And who is this vision of loveliness?"

Furion was certain the man was already well aware but he seemed to be playing some elaborate game of his own. Toran conceded, "This is Legatus Vevara of the Administratum."

Saffor's grin widened and he took up her hand, pressing it to his lips saying, "Delighted to meet such a fair damsel and here I was thinking this meeting was going to be dull."

"Charmed I'm sure," Vevara replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Oh, my dear," Saffor breathed, "You must let me show you the Fortune's Fool, her art galleries would take your breath away."

Vevara replied smoothly, "I would love to, but later when there's more time."

Furion was not accustomed to seeing Space Marines being ignored so and he was deeply suspicious that these two were engaged in some battle of wits, whose rules of engagement he didn't understand. He spoke up to move thing along, "We should not tarry over greetings, we have an exchange to conduct."

Saffor blinked and said, "Oh… didn't you understand? I am not here to deliver your resources; I am merely an emissary of an interested third party. Think of me as a middleman, if you will."

Furion started in surprise and blurted, "What? If you do not have the Emperor's due then who does?"

Saffor's grin faded slightly as he said, "Perhaps my guest could explain better."

At that moment there was the ringing of heavy steps and another mortal came down the ramp of the shuttle. He was wearing matt black power armour, built to a mortal scale and he moved with the awkward gait of one lacking a black carapace. He was bald and heavily scarred, bearing a ferocious scowl that announced he was most displeased to be here. Upon his breast was the rosette of the Ordo Hereticus and he walked stiffly towards the commanders, displeasure radiating off him every inch of the way.

"May I present my esteemed colleague," Saffor declared loudly, "This is Inquisitor Zerban."


	9. Chapter 9

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 9**

"This is trouble," Toran said quietly, "I don't know how bad or in what form, but it's certainly dangerous. We have to tread very carefully."

Furion agreed with his assessment, the unexpected arrival of the Inquisitor could only mean trouble. He drew in a breath and said, "We can't trust anything he says, every word he utters is laced with traps and snares."

"I don't understand," Cortha interjected, "Who is this Inquisitor?"

Furion looked at his apprentice, seeing confusion written all over young Cortha's face. It was understandable, the arrival of the Inquisitor had turned a routine ceremonial meeting into a perilous situation. The Storm Heralds had offered their welcomes, stiffly but as tradition demanded, Zerban for his part had barely said a word as contempt poured off him. So Toran had wisely decided to move the meeting onwards, ushering their mortal guests off to the main Strategium. Now he and his advisors were gathered just outside, discussing the situation and what they were going to do about it. None of them knew what this portended, but all knew it to be bad news. Persion was the first to answer the question by saying, "Zerban is an old enemy of the Chapter, he hates us with every fibre of his being. He's been making a nuisance of himself for years now."

Novak snorted, "That's putting it mildly, he's a snake, a slimy double-crossing backstabber. Never dares challenge anybody to their face but anyone who opposes him ends up in tragic accidents or worse."

Cortha looked stunned and asked, "Why does he hate us so?"

"Who knows," Persion stated, "Maybe he's just mad."

Cortha sounded stunned as he asked, "But he's only one man, how could he hope to challenge an Astartes Chapter?"

"He is an Inquisitor," Furion explained, "But not one of those zealots who race around battlefields blasting heretics. He's a political animal, making deals behind closed doors and swaying people with his leverage or outright blackmail."

Cortha looked confused as he pondered, "Maybe he's just here to oversee this deal. Perhaps he has no ulterior motive."

"And maybe Orks will give up war and take up farming," Persion spat, "I'm not buying it, he's here for a reason and it certainly means the Storm Heralds ill."

"He nearly lost us the battle of Angle's Redoubt," Memnos declared, "And I'm sure he's behind the efforts to have us declared Excommunicate Traitoris. He won't rest until we are driven out in disgrace and hunted down."

Jediah growled, "He was behind the assassination of Chapter Master Gorgall."

Cortha gasped in shock and exclaimed, "Surely not, why has he not been executed for treason?!"

Arvael answered, "We have no direct proof of his involvement, he's too wily to leave a paper trail. His influence ranges far and wide, he has leverage over people in all the right places."

"Not so much since we humiliated him at Angle's Redoubt," Jediah growled, "The Inquisition hates him more than we do. I say we kill him right now, they will probably give us a medal for it."

Furion half-agreed with that but he knew it would never work so he said, "That would be folly, no matter how much he is despised the Inquisition would not stand for Astartes killing one of their own."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Novak muttered gripping his sword hilt.

Furion however fixed him with a glare that screamed the order to shut up. Long ago their squad had been betrayed by a rogue Inquisitor and left to die in a trap. They had fought free then took her head in revenge, as well as her sword in the process. The renegade had been dispatched but it was a highly guarded secret, killing an Inquisitor had repercussions the Chapter could not afford, not when their relations with the Imperium were in such dire straits.

Suddenly Toran declared, "This is getting us nowhere, we can't fight a battle we don't understand. We have to find out what he's up to and deal with it. Follow me, we shall hear whatever he is plotting and uncover his schemes."

Furion agreed, "Look presentable, we hold the Storm Herald's honour upon our shoulders so nobody say anything rash. Novak, that goes double for you."

Novak feign a hurt expression and said, "I haven't even said anything yet!"

Furion glared at him and uttered, "We normally tolerate your loose tongue but if you disgrace us today I will have you swear a lifelong vow of silence."

Persion grinned and said, "Wait… was that always an option? Why did nobody tell me about this?"

The moment of levity did not draw smiles for Toran strode into the Strategium and the rest of the group followed in his wake. They emerged at the top of the tier of seats and marched downwards step by step. Below them, in the circular space between the rising seats, were the mortals, Legatus Vevara, her aide Sadik, Rogue Trader Saffor with his Ogryn bodyguard and of course Zerban. The Inquisitor was thumbing through a data slate with a scowl on his face while Sadik was muttering to himself and doing some abstract things to the abacus embedded into his chest.

Saffor appeared to be trying to engage Vevara in a discourse upon wines, which the Legatus was feigning interest in. Furion knew little of mortal interactions but their body language seemed off, not matching their words. Saffor was expounding the virtue of a Hydraphur red wine but his hands were never far from his shuriken pistols. Vevara was explaining the superiority of the Venusian white wines but her stance was that of someone expecting to engage in combat, never allowing herself to be squarely in front of the Rogue Trader. Furion could not help but think that these two looked more like ritual combatants, observing an opponent warming up, trying to discern clues as to their capabilities while feigning weaknesses of their own.

As they approached Furion heard Saffor exclaiming, "If you've never tried the fruits of Hydraphur then you haven't lived! The bouquet is robust and the flavour has a hint of spice that that takes you by surprise."

Vevara countered, "That may be, but the Venusian white is crisp and sharp, it teases the tongue without overpowering the senses."

Saffor laughed, "Then we must compare them. I have a fine vintage on the Fortune's Fool, 354.M41, an excellent year. I shall send Kreg to fetch you a bottle as soon as we are done here."

The Ogyrn growled at that but Vevara didn't look impressed as she demurred, "I wouldn't want to put him to any trouble."

Saffor laughed, "Nonsense, why Kreg here would be delighted, he's been in service since my father's day. You'd love to assist a proper lady, wouldn't you Kreg?"

A cluster of lights blinked the metal plates implanted into the Ogryn's skull and then he growled mindlessly, "Yes boss."

Furion didn't know what game these two were playing and he didn't care. Finally the Astartes reached the centre and spread out, forming an honour guard as Toran, Furion and Arvael stepped forwards. Zerban's head came up and he snapped, "Finally, you kept us waiting."

Furion felt a sudden desire to put his fist through the Inquisitor's skull but Toran was already stepping forward to say, "Apologies, there were ritual observances to be made."

Zerban snorted, "You Astartes are always the same, always wandering off when needed. Always pursuing some trivial affair and leaving others to sort out the mess in your wake."

Furion knew that was a calculated insult but he wasn't prepared to let this man run roughshod over his Chapter's honour. He was a Chaplain and wouldn't let anyone besmirch their name, old Wrethan wouldn't have stood for it, so he growled, "You are on our ship, I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head."

Zerban's lip curled in derision and he uttered, "We should never have let your kind have ships of your own. We should have kept you caged in cryo-stasis until you could be put to use."

Furion was incensed but then Arvael cut in to say, "Trading insults is not going to get us anywhere, perhaps we should get to the matter of the exchange."

Furion saw that he had let Zerban goad him and sank back into silence as Saffor stepped up to explain, "It seems there's some confusion about this so let me explain, I am here to mediate a trade deal between the Imperium and a third party. They call themselves the Diasporex."

Furion glanced at Arvael but he subtly shook his head to indicate he didn't know of them either, which was surprising. Thankfully Sadik explained, "The Diasporex are an ancient void-faring culture, first encountered in the Great Crusade. They are entirely space-based, with no planets of their own. They refused compliance so were brought to battle by the Primarch Ferrus Manus and his Iron Hands, along with other sundry forces. It was thought they were destroyed utterly but later encounters revealed that was but one small fleet. They exist as a wandering confederation of disparate groups and our records denote extreme deviation from Imperial scriptures, not least of which is their willingness to cooperate and cohabit with various Xeno breeds."

"Alien-lovers!" Toran blurted out, "You would have us deal with the likes of them!"

Furion could not believe it either and said, "This is intolerable, the Xeno is an offence to the purity of the human form. Those who associate with them risk the five blasphemies: discord, temptation, corruption, domination and destruction."

Zerban looked smug as he declared, "The Inquisition is overseeing this exchange, I shall make sure there is no corruption. Everything will be fine if do as you're told."

Furion bristled and said, "The Inquisition is supposed to prevent such sordid dealings, now you tell us the Ordos approve of this?"

Zerban cocked his head and replied, "Desperate times call for desperate measures. The Diasporex has never been more than an irritant; they keep away from our worlds. The inescapable reality is that they have the raw materials we urgently require, while we have the goods they desire."

"About that," Vevara ventured, "The Administratum records are sealed, what exactly are we giving them in exchange for this bounty?"

Zerban replied casually, "Ship parts and other restricted items, donated by the Inquisition."

"Like?" Vevara pressed.

"Classified," Zerban growled, "It means I could tell you, but then I'd have to shoot you."

Furion didn't know what scheme Zerban was cooking up but he proclaimed, "This whole affair is intolerable, to deal with the alien violates every tenant of the Imperium. The Emperor made Astartes to destroy their kind, not nurture them with backdoor trades. You offend our honour with this nefarious deal."

Toran concurred, "I must agree with my Chaplain, the Storm Heralds will not play any part of this subversion. If these Alien-lovers dare approach this ship, they shall be destroyed."

Saffor looked surprised and then said, "I know its unconventional but be reasonable. It's a simple exchange, you're only here for security. We're not asking you to do anything except stand there and look intimidating."

Furion proclaimed, "He whom tolerates the Xenos to live, shares its crime of existing."

Zerban looked like he was going to explode but before anything else could be said Vevara nonchalantly queried, "Then shall I inform your Chapter Master that you are electing to disobey your orders?"

That brought the argument to screeching halt, Furion saw Toran freeze in shock and he well understood why. Astartes were trained and conditioned to obey orders, it was fundamental to their psyche and their hypno-indoctrination. The dilemma sparked an instant crisis in his soul, his principles and ideals warring with the overwhelming compulsion to obey. It was difficult to even countenance but Furion remembered the last time Storm Heralds had dared to deviate from a Chapter Master's orders and the terrible kin-strife it had unleashed, to repeat such folly was unthinkable.

Toran breathed deeply for a moment and then spat angrily, "We shall not defy our orders, the deal shall go ahead."

"Good," Zerban said with a triumphant smile, "The Diasporex will be coming on board to negotiate the exchange, try not to Frak it up."

"Do not test my tolerance," Toran growled, "Just get this done quickly, so we can depart."

Furion concurred, "If this must be done let it be swift, every second those deviants are on board is an insult to the Storm Heralds. This day shall not be remembered in our litanies of honour."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 10**

"This is wrong," Cortha said resentfully, "We shouldn't be doing it."

"I can't argue with that," came the voice of Memnos, "It makes my skin crawl to think of having aliens on our ship."

Furion heard their talk and privately he agreed with them, this was fundamentally wrong. Third Company was standing honour guard in the landing bay once more, drawn up in two blocks of fifty. Their armour was polished to perfection and their bolters were clasped upright before them as their helmet lenses gleamed. It was an impressive sight but the thought that this was being done to honour Xenos guests was gnawing at the Space Marine's spirits. Astartes were made to destroy aliens, not fete them and all their training and hypno-indoctrination screamed this was wrong.

Furion was standing with Captain Toran and his advisors at the end of the gap between the two blocks. With them were Zerban, Saffor, Vevara and Sadik, all awaiting the arrival of the Diasporex. Furion had his skull-helm on, partly so he could talk unobserved on the vox and partly because he couldn't hide his expression of contempt. Only Toran had his helm off, and he was doing a much better job feigning calm, though Furion could see the signs of strain.

Toran's, larynx twitched and he subvocalized, "What choice do we have, our orders were clear. We are to ensure this deal goes ahead."

Arvael was on Toran's other flank and he said, "The Imperium desperately require these resources; the docks of Tectum can't possibly rebuild our fleets without them."

"Still sits wrong," Cortha replied, "To host Xenos defies the teachings of the Emperor."

"The Inquisition has spoken," Furion sighed regretfully, "The Administratum too, we can't defy them both, it would be the end of our Chapter. You know they are looking for any excuse to eradicate us."

Toran sounded calm but he subvocalized, "I don't intend to, but these aliens will yet rue this day."

"Oh?" asked Memnos curiously, "How do you intend to do that?"

Toran answered, "I said we would stand watch over this exchange, but I never said what we would do afterwards. Once we have the Emperor's Due safely away we shall stalk these alien-lovers back to their base then destroy them without mercy. The Imperium shall have its resources and the Emperor's Will shall be done."

Furion was most relieved, the Captain had found the means to obey orders and maintain their honour. As always he had found a way out of their conundrum but the Chaplain cautioned, "Be wary of traps, they should not be underestimated."

Suddenly Arvael hissed, "Hush, here they come."

The atmospheric shield quivered as a blunt-nosed shuttle poked its way through. It had a snout like cockpit and widespread wings, a plain grey Aquila pattern lander, common as muck on Imperial worlds. It matched the shuttles Furion had seen before a thousand times, save for its lack of Imperial markings and sigils of certification from a Tech-Priest. The lander settled upon its landing claws with bursts of thrust, calmly throttling down between Thunderhawk gunships like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Cortha muttered over the closed vox, "I was expecting something a little more… exotic."

Arvael explained, "It's meant to show us how inoffensive they are."

The ramp slowly lowered and hit the deck, revealing a woman. She was plain and unimpressive, lacking any Augmetic upgrades or genic enhancements. She looked like any other Imperial citizen or naval officer for that matter, yet there was steel in her gaze and she bore the mantle of one used to having her word obeyed. She strode down the ramp confidently and scrutinised the packed ranks of Space Marines without flinching, a mark of strength.

Memnos muttered over the vox, "She doesn't look like a Heretic."

Furion growled, "Trust not your eyes, heresy comes in many forms. That Alien-lover is as offensive to the Emperor as the foulest cultist."

Arvael concurred, "Secure your souls Brothers, we risk becoming familiar with the Xenos. Familiarity leads to understanding, understanding leads to empathy, empathy leads to compassion."

"No mercy for the alien," Cortha agreed making Furion begrudgingly nod.

Any further talk was cut off as more figures emerged and the sight stole Furion's breath away. They were all non-humans, a group of Xenos stepping onto a Space Marine ship like it was nothing. There was a tall-lizard-like creature that walked on two legs and a tail but had four arms. Behind it came a lumbering beast, all fat and blubber, tall as a Space Marine but with enormous tusks sticking out of its maw. Bringing up the rear was a short creature swaddled in robes, scurrying along with a quick skittering gait.

Furion felt his wrath stirring, the very sight triggering a conditioned response, an instinct imposed by his hypno-indoctrination. His hands curled around his Crozius and his heartbeats accelerated as his body primed for combat. This was not a conscious choice, the mere sight made it happen automatically, his subconscious beheld that which was other, that which was foreign and he immediately wanted to destroy it. Furion knew he was not alone in this response either, for the ranks stiffened and Brothers tightened their grips on their upright bolters.

The aliens began walking towards the waiting dignitaries, passing by the waiting Space Marines as if they were unashamed of their sin of existing. To any mortal eye the Space Marines would have been still but to Furion their ire was obvious, helms twitched and grips kneaded weapons as the Storm Heralds fought their urge to annihilate these interlopers. Furion cycled his vox through the various squad frequencies and he heard mutterings, "Look at that vile filth. Can't believe they dare stand before us. It is an offence to all that is righteous." To his surprise Furion realised he too was muttering to himself, "Hate the alien, fear the alien, kill the alien."

The shock made Furion grasp that this wasn't going to work, the conditioned response to destroy that which was foreign was too deeply ingrained, no Storm Herald could fight it. They were about to launch an attack on the Xeno interlopers, damn their orders, nothing could prevent it. Furion hissed over the vox, "Captain, this is going to turn ugly. The Brothers won't stand for it."

At that moment Cortha interjected, "Well… Zerban seems quite pleased."

Furion glanced at the Inquisitor and saw he was grinning slyly, almost happy at the state of affairs. With a flash Furion grasped that the Inquisitor had anticipated this response, he had been counting upon it to lay a trap. The man had put the Space Marines in an impossible situation, forsake their honour or disobey orders and either choice would spell disaster. Furion's mind ran like quicksilver as he thought through the implications and he understood that if the Storm Heralds attacked this party they would disgrace themselves, ruining the Imperium's chances of rebuilding. It would cast them in the worst possible light, which was exactly what Zerban wanted.

Furion saw he had to stop it, but how? What could prevent a Space Marine from attacking? Then Furion heard Jediah whispering, "Look at that lizard's neck, I could snap it in two with my bare hands."

Understanding dawned and before he knew what he was doing Furion widened his vox and declared to all, "Brothers, the Emperor tells us that the alien cannot be trusted, He teaches that their treachery is as inevitable as the sunrise. Therefore take this opportunity to study your foe, learn their weakness, identify threats and devise possible countermeasures. The Primarch wrote that information is victory, so gather as much as you can. The lessons we glean today shall ensure victory tomorrow!"

Instantly the mood of the gathering changed, the Space Marines settling back with watchful glares. They were not any less outraged but now their anger had been given an outlet and they seized it firmly. The sense of imminent danger passed as the Storm Heralds shifted to an intelligence-gathering mindset, drinking in information on the aliens. Voices shifted in tone and now they muttered, "Too much blubber on that one for a knife to penetrate, go for the eyes. The little one may be small but it looks fast, don't spare the bolt shells when targeting it. The lizard's secondary arms could be nasty, be wary of flanking strikes."

The mood settled and Furion breathed a little easier as Toran commented, "Nicely done."

Memnos agreed, "Good to have you back Furion, we missed your wisdom."

Furion frowned, what was that meant to mean, the Apothecary was making no sense. Then he shrugged it off, the disgraced medicae's opinion meant less than nothing to him. While all this had been occurring the alien delegation had reached the Imperial officers and came to a stop, a flash of annoyance passing over Zerban's face that violence had not erupted. The human woman stepped forward and boldly declared in an archaic accent of low gothic, "Greetings, I am Captain Horroway of the Bonaventure. I speak for the Diasporex."

Saffor took the lead and made a short bow replying, "Most welcome, I am Rogue Trader Saffor and I am grateful that you graced us with your presence. I offer you my personal guarantees of safety and free passage once we are done."

Horroway nodded and said, "May I introduce my comrades, Captains S'sner Deesh and Znuch."

Furion couldn't have cared less what titles aliens gave to themselves but Saffor responded smoothly, "I present my esteemed compatriots, Inquisitor Zerban, Legatus Vevara and Captain Toran."

Horroway nodded at each of them but paused at Zerban then remarked, "I was not expecting an Inquisitor, are you here to burn me alive?"

Zerban glanced at Captain Toran, as if expecting him to rip out his sword and lop off her head but the Storm Herald was silent. Zerban returned his gaze forward and stated, "I am here to oversee matters, nothing more."

Horroway accepted this and said, "It is well you are here, there is much to discuss."

Now Toran did respond, "I do not think it wise to linger, we have your goods, you have our resources. Let's get this over with and go our separate ways."

Horroway looked up at the towering Space Marine, a grimace of revulsion tugging at her lip as he said, "I'm afraid it's not that simple, the situation has changed."

Furion felt the current of anger run through the ranks and he hastily spoke aloud before someone could do something foolish, "Are you trying to renege on our deal?"

Horroway shook her head and stated, "Far from it, I am here to provide you with critical intelligence. The Ork menace is worse than any of us anticipated, they present a direct threat to both our societies. The Diasporex believes a Waaagh is building here, one that will overrun your worlds as surely as our fleets. Your Imperium is in grave danger."

Furion was stunned by the news and he spat, "Why would you tell us this?"

Horroway shrugged, "We wish to survive as much as you do, we see need no reason to fight each other when a mutual threat looms over us both. I am here to propose an alliance against the Orks."

Furion's jaw dropped, an alliance with Xenos, a trade was bad enough, but this was unthinkable. He was about to angrily rebuke the woman but Zerban got there first and said, "I would hear more of this threat."

"Yes," Vevara agreed, "This sounds a most serious matter."

Toran angrily interjected, "I must protest, this is in total violation of Imperial doctrines."

Vevara fixed him with a glare and said, "That is for Terra to decide, we have agreed to nothing as yet. There is no harm in merely listening to this intelligence."

Furion swallowed his bile and whispered over the vox, "Captain, we can't cross the Administraum and the Inquisition, but let us not do this in the open. Too many eyes are watching and fingers are tightening on bolters, one more word and someone will do something rash."

Toran accepted this and then sullenly declared, "Very well, we will hear this report but not here. We shall meet in the Strategium in one hour, until then you will be our guests. Let me personally escort you to our ambassadorial quarters."

Horroway looked relieved as she said, "Thank you, I am pleased you saw reason."

The woman and the aliens were led away by Toran but Furion smiled at the Captain's cleverness. Those quarters were buried deep within the ship and would be heavily guarded. The alien-lovers didn't realise it but should the Storm Heralds not like what they heard then they would never get out alive.


	11. Chapter 11

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 11**

"Refreshments?" came the monotone drone of the Servitor as it trundled around the quarters. It was a basic model, with small wheels on its metal feet that propelled it smoothly along so it didn't spill any drinks. One arm was a metal tray and the other was a drinks dispenser, ending in a nozzle. The head was festooned with augmetics, bulbous eye lenses and a speaker grill for a mouth. Yet none of that caught Horroway's attention, what she couldn't take her eyes off was the tattoo on its shoulder.

Janna swallowed nervously at the implication, the visceral horror of what she was seeing. This servitor had once been a man, it had a mind of its own. Now it was rendered down to nothing, turned into a mere hospitality machine in a parody of life. Horroway struggled to grasp how anybody could commit such an abomination, the casual disregard for the sanctity of life. Of course the Diasporex used servitors, their starships could hardly function without them, but those were vat-grown clones, with no sentience of their own. The thought of using people for such roles was profoundly unsettling and she couldn't understand how anyone could think such a way.

Horroway was struggling to comprehend much about the Imperials and the way they saw the universe. She had expected the technological stagnation and the adoration of their Tyrant-Emperor, but she had not been prepared for their flagrant disregard for human life. As she walked to her quarters she had seen the crew about their business, there was no joy in their lives and no expectation of reward. They were barely better than servitors themselves, incapable of any thought other than those drilled into their heads by their overlords.

Horroway thought of those masters, the fearsome Space Marines and suppressed a shudder. She had never laid eyes upon one before and been aghast at the transformed men. They had been giants wrapped in swollen muscles barely different from the Orks in many ways, but in their eyes had been a fearsome and intense hatred. That Captain with the augmetic eye had unnerved her with the way loathing had poured off him, a fierce desire to destroy all Horroway held dear. She had looked upon him and seen a fanatical zealot, bound by millennia of mindless tradition, unable to think or feel for himself, only able to parrot doctrines laid down thousands of years ago.

Horroway glanced at her companion Captains, all trying to make themselves comfortable in the human quarters. The servitor was making its way between them, its lobotomised mind unable to tell the difference between human and alien. Horroway sighed to herself, it had been a mistake to bring them, she had realised it the second she saw the Space Marines. She should have come alone but it was too late for recriminations.

She was distracted by a beeping on her wrist, her personal comm-unit signalling a message. Horroway glanced at the door, making sure it was sealed and then lifted her comm-unit and whispered, "Report."

From the device Numeta's voice issued, "There you are, it took me ages to piggyback a signal through the Imperial's comm relays."

Horroway asked, "Is this line secure?"

"Please," Numeta snorted, "Those bone-rattling simpletons couldn't find a missing data-file with both hands and a map. The day they catch me is the day I request deletion."

Horroway was relieved and inquired, "What's the situation?"

Numeta replied, "Quiet so far, the Imperials are playing nice for once. Both convoys are set to make the exchange; we only need your word."

Horroway sighed, "Hold off for the moment, they haven't agreed to anything yet."

"You think they will refuse?" Numeta asked, "Should we send an extraction team?"

"They would never make it," Horroway answered, "Our only hope is to convince them that the Orks are the bigger threat."

"Well you'd better hurry," Numeta stated, "Those Orks won't wait forever."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Horroway hissed, "Maintain Vox silence and wait for my signal."

Without waiting for a response the door slid back, revealing the bulk of a Space Marine. He was armed with his bolter weapon but it wasn't pointing at anybody yet. A deep rumble issued from his helm, "The Captain wants you."

Everybody made to stand up but the Astartes growled, "Just the human."

Horroway didn't argue the point and waved her fellows back, they grumbled loudly but acceded and settled back as Janna left. She followed the Space Marine deeper into the ship, knowing that there was no way she could overpower him and run. Frankly she doubted anything she could do would even irritate the gene-forged warrior. Yet he didn't seem to intend her ill-harm for he soon led her to an arena-like room, where her hosts awaited her.

Horroway examined each of them as she descended the steps. The Space Marine Toran was there, staring at her with hostility. Horroway examined his features and was deeply unnerved by his visage. His face was huge, with traces of gigantism, and covered in old wounds. He had rising diagonal scars on his cheeks and one eye had been torn out and replaced with a burning red augmetic implant, that bored into the socket like a permeant monocle. Harroway was uncomfortably reminded of an old mastiff she had known as a child, ragged and haggard by constant scraps but with vicious fangs that were always ready to bite an incautious youth.

Toran was accompanied by a morbid warrior in black, who had skull-helm and some archaic mace. His plate was jagged and heavy in comparison, with shining embellishments and a golden cross hanging around his neck. Horroway didn't understand Astartes ranks but this one looked fierce and unforgiving, a political officer if she had ever seen one. Their loathing for her was profound but at least it was direct and honest, as for the others Horroway didn't know how they would respond.

Across from them was the woman Vevara, who Horroway trusted about as far as she could throw her for there was a devious glint in her eye. Rogue Trader Saffor was present too, nominally the closest to the Diasporex in nature, yet mercurial and loyal to nothing save his own profit. Lastly was Inquisitor Zerban, from an order of fanatical zealots in a society famed for its Xenophobia, who knew what he would do.

Horroway didn't trust any of these Imperials but these were the people she had to convince to ally with the Diasporex in battle. She reached them only to be greeted by Saffor, "Welcome back, we are glad to see you."

Horroway found that to be an exaggeration but replied, "Are you prepared to hear my proposal?"

Vevara answered, "First we need more intelligence, what precisely is this threat you have uncovered?"

"Let me show you," Horroway said activating her comm-unit. A small Hololith sprang up showing the Diasporex's scans as she explained, "The Orks are infesting the whole system but the true danger is this. It is a space hulk, a large one, big enough to break any orbital defence."

Toran leaned in to take in the details and asked, "Under active control?"

"Unfortunately yes," Horroway stated, "Our long-range probes have monitored it moving under its own power. The Orks are making final preparations, soon it will be able to sail the Immaterium itself. It can overwhelm the Diasporex or approach your worlds at will."

Zerban looked wary as he said, "Dangerous yes, but what makes you think it heralds a Waaagh?"

Horroway saw a twitch in Toran's remaining eye at the interruption but she explained, "Orks instinctively gather around one leader, the biggest and strongest. The more powerful the chieftain becomes the more followers they attract and the more followers they gain the more powerful they become. Any Ork who can boast such a vessel will be a potent figurehead for the rest of his kind, they will swarm to fight under such a symbol of might, but if we can eliminate it they will dissipate back into feuding bands."

Toran stood straighter and said, "We thank you for your intelligence, rest assured my Chapter will deal with it. Now I suggest you get off my ship."

Sadly Horroway replied, "That is not an option, the Orks will overwhelm the Diasporex before you can summon reinforcements."

Behind him the skull-helmed warrior growled, "I fail to see how that is our problem."

"Furion is right," Toran concurred, "We are not your allies and your kind defy the Emperor's will."

Horroway couldn't believe the intransigence on display as she said, "This is bigger than our petty differences. A full scaled Waaagh is building, you can't stand against that. If you give the Orks time then the danger will grow. How many worlds are you prepared to lose for your pride? How will this Emperor of yours thank you if you stand aside and let his people suffer?"

Suddenly Zerban spoke up and said, "I too find it hard to countenance allowing such a threat to go unchallenged. The Orks are a danger to us all; they must be dealt with immediately."

Toran looked stunned as he gasped, "You support this outrage?"

Zerban cocked his head and said, "Didn't somebody write, in war you take the allies you can get not the ones you would wish for."

"Do not paraphrase the Codex Astartes at me," Toran spat back.

Horroway detected an old grudge there but pressed on, "Between us we have four capital ships, two light cruisers and three squadrons of escorts. Together we can destroy that Hulk and nip this crisis in the bud. Our combined fleets could defeat the Greenskins."

"Excuse me," Saffor spluttered, "I am not going to face off against Orks."

Horroway blinked in surprise but hastily uttered, "The Diasporex can make it worth your while."

Saffor paused and then queried, "How much are we talking about?"

"Put aside your greed," snarled Zerban, "You will do this because it is required of you."

Saffor snorted, "You don't get rich without taking risks but you certainly end up poor by fighting without the prospect of reward."

Suddenly Toran butted in to say, "This entire affair sullies the honour of the Adeptus Astartes and we shall have no part of it. We will deal with this Hulk our way. Once we summon our entire Chapter the Orks will be annihilated."

Vevara's eyes narrowed and she said, "Your orders…"

"Do not extend this far," the skull-helmed Furion declared, "We were ordered to aid and support your personage, not spend noble Astartes lives for filthy Xenos. Our Chapter Master would have us sentenced to penitent crusades were we to violate the Emperor's edicts so."

Horroway swallowed nervously then ventured, "What if we were to offer you certain technologies, STC designs lost to antiquity…"

"Do not try to buy our favour," Furion growled, "Our honour is not so cheap as to be traded for petty baubles."

Horroway was aghast by what she was hearing and cried, "But the threat is upon us, you can't close your eyes to this!"

Toran glared at her and stated, "We are not blind, the Storm Heralds will destroy this hulk but we will do it the honourable way."

Zerban crossed his arms and muttered, "I seem to recall your Chapter welcomes alliances, don't you seek our friends wherever you can?"

"Not with aliens," Furion snarled angrily, "Alliances are for loyal subjects of the Emperor, not foul Xenos. The Inquisition can sully itself with such debased practices but we shall preserve our ideals and uphold the Emperor's decrees."

Horroway could see this was going wrong but at that moment Vevara stepped in to say, "We should not let our tempers rule our heads. Perhaps we should take some time to reflect and reach a cool and considered verdict."

Saffor agreed, "Yes, we should all take a breather, before doing anything rash."

The Space Marines didn't look like they agreed but Toran reluctantly agreed, "Due to these unusual circumstances I have tried to be tolerant but my patience grows thin. We shall meet again in twelve hours but know that there will be no more extensions."

Horroway sagged as she was led back to her quarters; the Space Marines had been as stubborn as she had feared. The situation seemed hopeless and yet she had no choice but to convince them to change their minds. She wracked her brains as she tried to think of something to say but nothing came forth, it looked like she had failed before she had even started.


	12. Chapter 12

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 12**

Furion glowered at passing serfs as he marched, trailing after the Captain with Arvael, Cortha, Persion, Novak and Jediah in tow. They were not really headed anywhere, more pacing to vent their irritation. The mortals quailed as their transhuman masters strode past, able to recognise their indignation at a glance. Furion knew they had done nothing to deserve censure but the Storm Heralds were in a foul mood and such ire could not be contained. Furion knew why all too well, the gall of the Diasporex Captain expecting Space Marines to ally with aliens, not to mention the affront of the Administratum and Inquisition supporting such a notion. Furion held the mortals to be lucky that the Storm Heralds were such a tolerant and rational Chapter, he was certain the Black Templars or the Ashen Knights would have killed them on the spot for such dishonourable conduct.

As they walked Toran was saying, "We will dispatch Astropathic messages and summon the Chapter's full might. Together we will break these Orks and annihilate the threat."

Furion commented, "That will take time, the Orks won't simply sit around and wait for us to be ready."

Thoughtfully Toran explained, "We will stay in the system and engage in harassing actions to keep them off balance."

Furion was glad to hear it but had to mention, "We have taken heavy casualties, even with the recent recruitment efforts we are barely half a Chapter."

Toran turned a corner and remarked, "Victory requires sacrifice, we cannot afford to baulk at the cost."

"What of the Diasporex?" inquired Furion.

"I gave them guarantees of free passage but no more than that," Toran stated, "They can take their goods and depart but if they remain in the system when the Chapter arrives they can expect no mercy."

Furion was glad to hear that guests but then he spied the forms of Hevostan and Memnos approaching, in a great hurry. The pair skidded up to the group and called, "Captain! The archives, the archives have been violated!"

Furion blinked in surprise as Toran barked, "What?! What archives? Start at the beginning."

Memnos drew in a breath and said, "There has been an intrusion into our Logic-engines. Somebody bypassed every info-ward and data-defence we have and rooted around in our sealed archives."

Furion gasped, "What did they take?"

Hevostan replied, "They had access to everything but they focused on personal records, full transcripts of gene-seed screenings, biological appraisals, mental assessments, after-action reports and spiritual evaluations. She seemed especially interested in you Captain."

"She?" hissed Toran suspiciously, "You know who did this?"

"Aye," Hevostan replied, "She left a footprint we couldn't miss, it was Vevara."

"Vevara," Furion growled, "She's gone too far, this cannot stand."

Toran barked angrily, "Legatus or not she shall answer for this!"

Toran led them at a full run, travelling at the astonishing pace only Astartes in armour could produce, crossing the ship at a pace no mortal would have believed possible. The others followed in his wake, anger burning in their hearts at this treachery. Furion felt his wrath building, he did not know what game this clerk thought she was playing, but she would be made to regret it.

In minutes they had reached the Legatus' quarters, a large suite of rooms set aside for dignitaries and visitors. The squad didn't even pause to open the door for Novak threw himself at the hatch with his full weight behind him. Solid plasteel, designed to hold back the vacuum of space, met the heft of an Astartes and it crumpled instantly, folding inwards with an almighty crash.

The squad instantly poured through the hatch, their training telling them not to risk being bottled up in the narrow confines. They spread out into the room beyond, covering the angles and alert for threats. The Legatus had to know they were coming, and could well have set a trap. Yet they did not find what they expected.

Beyond the debris of the ruined door the room was modest in its décor, merely a few hanging tapestries, a small shrine and door leading off to bedchambers. Set in the middle of that room someone had positioned a low table, which bore a small box and a pot of Tanna with porcelain bowls. Around that table were three high backed chairs, and in one sat Vevara, sipping at a bowl of Tanna.

Furion saw the woman look up at their boisterous arrival and realised that there was no alarm or surprise in her face. She looked calm and confident, relaxed even, as if she wasn't being confronted by the bolt pistols of half a dozen angry Astartes. Vevara paused for a moment then lowered her bowl a fraction and remarked, "Was the door-handle stuck?"

Furion blinked at the non-sequitur but Toran stepped forwards and barked, "Do not play your games with us! We have uncovered your perfidy!"

Vevara sighed and put her bowl in her lap as she said, "Firstly, you don't have to yell every single word. Secondly, you didn't uncover anything, I tripped your feeble wards on purpose."

Furion was getting confused and hissed, "Why would you do such a thing?"

Vevara smiled coldly and explained, "To get your attention, I needed to speak with you urgently and in your current state of mind I thought you would brush me off."

Jediah pushed forwards and growled, "Enough word-games, let me peel her skin off and prise the answers out of her."

Vevara lifted a single digit and said, "Before you do that, I suggest one of you look in the box."

Furion glanced at the table, wary of traps but the box was plain and small. Toran looked curious but Furion stepped up to examine it closely. He knew a thing or two about demolitions and he inspected the box minutely, half-thinking it was a bomb. After a minute he was satisfied that it was clean and he looked to Toran who nodded, then the Chaplain opened the box. What he found inside though was worse than a bomb. It contained two items, a vellum scroll and a lozenge of silvery metal. It was set with cross guards at either end and banded by eldritch markings; with a grinning skull set half-way along its length. It was an Inquisitorial Rosette.

Furion's head snapped up to stare at the woman and she grinned triumphantly as she said, "Allow me to reintroduce myself: Inquisitor Vevara, Ordo Xenos."

The squad shrank back at that, and Toran hissed, "You are no Legatus."

"No," Vevara replied, "But Sadik is, he was most put out when I co-opted his role but he wasn't going to argue with an Inquisitor."

Furion probed, "Why the deception?"

"Wrong question," Vevara stated, "The right question is: why am I not afraid for my life. The answer is in that scroll."

Furion looked down again and hesitantly picked up the scroll; he unrolled it and read the contents. Then he gasped loudly and felt his knees go weak as he declared, "It's a Carta Extremis, declaring the Storm Heralds Excommunicate Traitoris."

Horrified gasps arose from all; this was the ultimate sanction, the death sentence of all they had known. But Vevara lifted her voice to say, "You may note that the scroll is missing the stamp of the Inquisition, it's not official without it that seal. But know that with a word from me it will be, or rather a lack of word. This is only a copy you understand, the real one is safely ensconced on Tectum, but should I fail to return in good health then it will be issued and your entire Chapter will be cast out as Traitors."

Stunned silence reigned and then Toran hissed, "Everybody save Furion, get out."

Slowly the squad shuffled out and the three of them were left in the room. Vevara motioned the Space Marines to sit and Toran and Furion lowered themselves down, then the Inquisitor said lightly, "Tanna?"

Frigid stares were her only response but Furion twisted his helm off and spat, "You seem to have this all thought out."

"I have you over a barrel," Vevara laughed, "But don't pretend you don't deserve it."

Toran growled, "We have done nothing. If you speak of the Emperor-worship then know our Chapter has abandoned such practices."

Vevara snorted, "You think that's what this is about? No, this is about you Toran, you and your ways. Did you think you were being subtle all these years? That we wouldn't notice? Starting a civil war in your Chapter, covering up the existence of an Abominable Intelligence, letting a renegade Chapter go free and killing Inquisitor Canesh?"

Furion and Toran shared a loaded glance but Vevara laughed, "Oh please, if you're going to kill an Inquisitor you shouldn't go and give your champion her sword. Astartes; all the subtly of a brick."

Toran sank back forlornly and whispered, "So my Chapter is to be condemned for my actions."

"Hardly," Vevara snorted, "Canesh was a known Recongregator; you did me a personal favour killing her. Shame you didn't do it again really."

Furion was suspicious and ventured, "You're not here for us, are you? This Carta, it's your leverage… Zerban, you're here for Zerban."

"Very sharp," Vevara commented, "Yes, your Chapter is a nuisance and you have managed to annoy people in very high places but that is nothing compared to Zerban's crimes."

"What do you have against Zerban?" Furion pressed sensing an opening.

Vevara set her bowl down and explained, "Officially, Zerban is accused of being an Istvaanian."

"Like Canesh?" Toran asked.

"No," Vevara replied, "Canesh was a Recongregator, they want to change the Imperium, something I bitterly oppose. But Istvaanism is a creed of conflict; they start wars and brew up strife, all for a mad belief that war makes Mankind stronger."

Furion detected the hanging lure and took it saying, "And unofficially?"

Vevara smiled coldly and said, "Unofficially Zerban was on a fast track once, set to rise high. Yet nobody does that without making enemies, powerful enemies. But now his position has slipped and all those he trod on have drawn their knives. He is living on borrowed time and he knows it. There are many who would wish to see his end, so desperately that they would even rescind this Carta, if you could arrange matters for them."

Toran blinked and said, "You are Ordo Xenos and Zerban Hereticus. Shouldn't you be concentrating on the alien threat?"

Vevara waved off his concerns, "The Ordos aren't fixed jurisdictions, we go where we will. Especially when one of our own needs taking down."

"You dare to threaten an Astartes Chapter over a single man," Furion mused then dared, "This is more than some routine investigation. This is personal, your need to take on Zerban is all-consuming; it drives you to take insane risks. Why is that?"

Vevara leaned back and arched her fingers before her as she said, "Let me explain something: I do not believe you to be heretics but that won't stop me destroying your Chapter. I don't care about you. I don't care about your pride, your honour or your ideals. I don't care about your record, your history or your battles. You are nothing but a means to an end to me. If you do exactly what I say I will rescind the Carta, but defy me and I will have you cast out."

Furion was astonished by the change in this woman, she was utterly cold and ruthless now and he believed absolutely that she would do it. He swallowed and said, "What do you want?"

Vevara replied, "Zerban set up this meeting for a reason, I want to know what he's scheming, so I want you to play along. You will go back to the Diasporex and tell them you have changed your mind, that you will gladly fight beside them."

"You compel us to forfeit our honour," Furion hissed.

"Your honour or your Chapter's survival," Vevara proclaimed, "Choose one."

Toran lowered his head and muttered, "It seems we must comply."

Vevara replied, "Don't be so morose, this is an opportunity for you, if you play your cards right. The Orks are a genuine threat to the Imperium, you can destroy them and Zerban has long sought your extinction, you might bring him down."

Furion glared angrily at her but knew they had no choice. For the future of the Storm Heralds they had to obey, he could only hope they could find a way to survive this with some shred of honour left to their names.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 13**

The deck rumbled beneath his bare feet, sending a vibration tingling up his legs. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, quite far from it. The feeling was comfortable and familiar, almost unnoticeable after the first few minutes. In fact it was disconcerting how newcomers would comment upon it, like complaining to a ground-pounder that water was wet or the sky blue.

Saffor luxuriated in the feeling of the Fortune's Fool moving as the Rogue Trader's vessel ignited its drives and set sail, the odd quiver a product of centuries of refits and custom repairs. Saffor loved the feeling of his ship springing to life, not least of all because it was his to command. He had been born on this ship and spent his youth prowling its decks, exploring the nooks and crannies as only a little boy could. This ship was home but it was also so much more than that. It was his means of exploring the stars and seeking out adventure and profit wherever he willed. Alone among the teeming multitudes of Imperial citizens, he could claim to be free and the Fortune's Fool embodied that freedom.

Lost in thought Saffor wandered over to a sidebar, picking up a decanter and pouring himself a large measure of Amasec as he looked about his quarters. He was dressed in a loose robe and his hair was dishevelled after a night's rest. The Rogue Trader's apartments were sumptuous and lavish, as one would expect. Filled with expensive arts and rare items of dubious provenance, there was furniture from Ophelia VII, tapestries from the Sabbat worlds, spirits from a hundred worlds in strangely shaped bottles and fur rugs from Inwit. These were the legacy of a lifetime spent crossing the galaxy, yet in truth they barely held his attention.

Saffor was not the sort to revel in his own glory, to grow fat and indolent congratulating himself on his success. He was only interested in the next adventure and the profit that came with it. It was the thrill of the chase that captured his heart; the actual prize always seeming to lose its glitter once he had it in his grasp.

Saffor heard a rumble from the door and glanced over to see Kreg waking up. The Ogryn didn't seem to understand the concept of beds; he preferred to sleep on the floor by the door. Saffor didn't mind, the bodyguard's function was to keep the Rogue Trader alive, not an easy job sometimes. Countless attempts had been made on his life, not least by his close relatives, but between Kreg and his own skills with a pistol Saffor had seen them all off. Kreg was his most trusted companion, not because he was loyal but because the implants drilled into his brain made it impossible for him to disobey Saffor or think of betraying him.

"Morning Kreg," Saffor called jovially.

"Boss," Kreg rumbled blearily.

Saffor turned his back on the Ogryn, knowing that no more conversation would be forthcoming. He heard a soft sigh from a room across from his own bedchamber, his trio of concubines stirring from their rest but he paid no attention. He looked about again, eyes passing over a card-gaming desk, cabinets filled with Xeno trinkets and came to rest on a small regicide table. There was a game on-going there and Saffor sighed as he realised that he was losing, his concubine Melisande yet again outwitting him. Her genius at strategy was matched only by her nose for rooting out dodgy numbers in a crooked trade deal. Her sister Messina could sing so beautifully as to make a man weep, a skill matched only by her gift for ferreting out crucial secrets men didn't know they were revealing. The youngest sister, Merisa, had a dancer's grace and a fascination with antiquities, her keen eye spotting the worth of artefacts Saffor often dismissed as junk.

Thoughtfully Saffor moved on, eyes passing over a portrait of his late parents before coming to rest upon a large pict-screen that covered most of a wall. He sipped his Amasec and wandered over and pressed a rune to reveal the outside world. Saffor's ancestors had not been stupid enough to place their quarters on the ship's exterior but this Jokearo made device projected an image so sharp and clear that one could be forgiven for thinking they were. Saffor's favourite view sprang up, a long pict taken over the spine of the Fortune's Fool. The stars wheeled in the image as the cruiser span onto her course and he drank in the sight of the craft, pouring over every line and beam of his ship.

The Fortune's Fool was the Teliday family's first acquisition and greatest source of wealth. Commissioned a thousand years ago, to convey the Rogue Traders wherever they willed. Those distant ancestors had known well that they would be travelling far beyond the Imperium's borders and operating without support and so had built their ship for survivability. Subsequent generations hadn't been squeamish about incorporating Xenos upgrades either.

Saffor could see the vanes of Fra'al shield emitters, mixed with the spindly arrays of Eldar targeting systems. Between them moved squat Deimurg repair bots, crawling over the hull to restore damage with mindless devotion. Saffor's own father had spent a considerable portion of the family's wealth adding fighter launch decks. Saffor himself found those squadrons an annoying drain on his profits but had to admit the mercenary pilots he employed had proved their worth more times than he cared to admit. All in all the Fortune's Fool had the ability to survive anything. Boasting the punch to defeat a smaller ship, a useful trait when conducting piracy upon some alien empire beyond the Imperium's borders, but with the endurance to survive long enough to withdraw from superior opposition.

Saffor was distracted from his thoughts by the chime of the door, he grimaced there was only one person who would dare call upon him at this hour. He took a moment to straighten his robes and chugged back his Amasec and then called, "Come in."

The door slid back to reveal the armoured form of Inquisitor Zerban, who promptly stepped inside, ignoring Kreg entirely. Saffor suppressed a grimace, the Inquisitor was a most unwelcome guest here but this whole meeting had been his idea and the Rogue Trader was stuck with him.

Zerban's eyes travelled over the quarters, taking it in for the first time, and the look on his face was a mix of disapproval and jealousy. Saffor waited a moment then asked, "Something you wanted?"

Zerban returned his gaze to the Rogue Trader and said, "We are underway."

"I know," Saffor said stepping aside to reveal the image on the wall, "See for yourself."

Zerban looked at the view and asked, "Are the cargo ships safe?"

Saffor laughed, "Don't know much about the void, do you? Space is beyond big and we left them in the deep void. As long as the cargo ships keep quiet the Orks will never find them."

"Good, the trade needs to go ahead," Zerban stated then uttered, "I can't believe the Space Marines agreed to this."

Saffor grinned and said, "So much for your plan to get them and the Diasporex to wipe each other out."

Zerban didn't look concerned, he strode over to the sidebar and helped himself to an Amasec without asking, then said, "That was only one possibility, there are other plans in play. I was more expecting them to break the peace and shame themselves, just one more nail in their coffin, but I never thought they would agree to work with the aliens. Damned Orks, they are a complication we didn't need right now."

Saffor remarked, "The Astartes still demanded the overall command of the fleet."

"War is what they were made for," Zerban commented swilling his glass, "Letting them strut about on the battlefield is no problem. It's when they get ideas above their station that problems arise."

"What do you have against them anyway?" Saffor inquired.

Zerban grimaced and spat, "Space Marines in general are attack dogs, they should never have been let off the leash but that Chapter in particular can't keep from interfering in matters they don't understand. Always sticking their craw in where it isn't welcome and ruining things. I had a chance on Sacellum, to acquire power beyond measure, but one mad Apothecary spoiled it all. I had him booted out of the Deathwatch for his temerity."

"Why haven't you destroyed them already?" Saffor asked lightly.

"I've tried," Zerban growled, "I set it up perfectly so Lessall would march out to conquer the galaxy and then be crushed under my vengeful boot… only he couldn't even win his own civil war. All that time and effort, I was ready and waiting for him to come, and then the wrong side won!"

The sound of a soft voice came from the bedchamber and Zerban's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he said, "Who is that?!"

"Don't worry," Saffor laughed, "It's merely my concubines, three sisters trained and branded in the flesh-markets of Pascum. They advise me on all my dealings, they know everything I know and can keep their mouths shut; they won't spill your secrets."

Zerban sneered in indignation, "You keep slaves?"

Saffor felt insulted by that and corrected him, "I do have some standards and for your information I rescued them from the claws of a lecherous Cardinal of Ophelia VII. I was contracted to deliver them to his private estates, for a life of denigration and shame, but when they pleaded with me not to go through with it, well... I couldn't do it. He still wants my head I believe, even though I paid him back in full. They stay in my quarters for show, partly because a man in my position is expected to keep certain company and partly because no void-dog on board would dare lift a hand against, 'the Captain's women'."

"A thief with a heart of gold," Zerban snorted, "I don't buy it, you're not so chivalrous to keep your hands to yourself."

"Well, I am only human," Saffor chortled, "But I didn't lay a finger on any of them until they invited me to, which was years after I rescued them I'll have you know. Truth be told, I'm more interested in the chase itself, now that lady Vevara… there's a mystery worth taking the time to unravel."

"Trust me, she's poisoned goods," Zerban uttered as he moved to look at the portrait of Saffor's parents saying, "Your kin?"

Saffor was growing suspicious at the Inquisitor's willingness to chat but he explained, "My parents, I confess they were hard to like, but I owe them much."

"Oh?" Zerban inquired innocently, "You didn't get on?"

Saffor snorted, "They gave me the middle name Rodoth, I hate that name. My father was always banging on about family pride and my mother was trying to wed me off to one dirt-born noble lady or other. But I suppose they at least had the good sense to send me away as a ward when I was young, kept me out of the crosshairs of all those greedy cousins and covetous relatives."

Zerban nodded, "I hear competition for the Warrant is fierce."

"Bloodthirsty," Saffor sighed, "Being the most direct heir would have done me no good were it not for my keen skill with my pistols and a constant wariness for traps. Even when I took the Warrant a few cousins tried their luck, they all ended up sucking vacuum. The rest got the message and now command my escort frigates for me."

Zerban was still looking at the portrait and he mused, "They look so mundane, almost normal... almost."

Saffor froze and his good mood evaporated, so that was why Zerban was here, to remind the Rogue Trader he knew the Teliday family's dirty secret. Saffor didn't know how the Inquisitor had found out, it had been buried a millennium earlier but somehow he knew the shameful truth and wasn't shy about using it to get his way.

Saffor cross his arms and said, "Enough chit-chat, what do you want?"

Zerban grinned and stated, "We are going into battle and that is a crazy place. So many opportunities abound in war, so many possibilities."

Saffor snarled, "You already tried to start a war and failed."

"There's always another war," Zerban quipped, "This time against the Orks. We can put things back on track, if you do exactly what I say."

Saffor glanced at the portrait of his late parents and then reluctantly asked, "What do you propose?"

Zerban leaned back and sipped his Amasec then said, "We wait until we engage the Orks, then this is what you will do…"


	14. Chapter 14

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 14**

The asteroid was a lumpy mass of bare rock, twirling eternally in the airless vacuum. It drifted serenely in the emptiness, continuing on its course has it had done for billions of years and would do so for billions more. Captain Horroway watched it spin as it slid past the prow, passing close to the hull as the Bonaventure slipped by. The dead rock disappeared out of the Oculus, leaving only the chill light of stars and Horroway sighed in relief. Besides her chair Numeta's voice arose, "See, I told you it was nothing to worry about." Horroway glanced at a read-out with a frown, seventeen kilometres clearance, far too close for her liking but she said nothing. Instead she passed her eyes over her bridge, seeing the Diasporex crew hard at work.

Horroway was glad to be back on board, the Imperial's ship had been such a morbid and depressing place. She had not stayed a moment longer than necessary, flying back to her own ship as soon as the agreement had been finalised. There was still difficult and dangerous work ahead but Horroway would much rather be conducting it from the comfort of her own bridge than standing under the guns of unfriendly allies. The Captain leaned back in her chair and commanded, "Tactical Hololith."

Over her head emerged a glowing rendition of the space surrounding the Bonaventure. She was flying near to the head of a wedge of ships, trailing just behind the Space Marine vessel 'Thunderchild'. That ship may be a brutal and ugly pugilist but that was exactly what they needed right now and her cargo of genic-enhanced warriors might prove critical. On the left flank was the Fortune's Fool, leading her own formations of escort frigates. Horroway didn't rate the Rogue Trader or his ship as a deadly fighter but she trusted they would hold the flank, for their own sake if nothing else.

To the right, keeping as far away as they could while maintaining formation, was the Diasporex fleet. The Arsenal ship, a pair of Gun-Brigs and the sloops, all proudly sailing along, trying to look like they were merely nearby to the others, certainly not working with them. Horroway sighed wearily, the other Captains had been most unhappy about the situation but it was they had to work with, the Ork threat took precedence over all other things.

That thought made Horroway scan their destination, looking for enemy contacts. The Hololith displayed a few vague circles, guesses as to the Ork's position and numbers but no hard contacts yet. The fleet was still outside conventional sensor range, but soon they would cross that barrier and the Orks would become aware of them.

Horroway bit her lip for a moment then called, "Report statues of the recon probes, Mr D'ras."

D'ras turned about to look at the Captain on her pedestal and answered, "Orreti report stealth-drones are entering sensor range now. Telemetry will be uploaded in minutes."

Horroway rubbed her chin thoughtfully; she knew all too well the ferocity and belligerence of the Ork race. She had no doubt the allied fleet would fight fiercely but if the Orks were too numerous then all of this would have been for nothing. They had no other choices though, the attack had to proceed regardless, Senator Acham had entrusted this mission to her and she could not fail.

Floating near her in a column of light Numeta asked, "Something troubling you?"

Horroway didn't want to discuss her concerns in front of the crew so demurred, "Just thinking about those Imperials, how could humanity have sunk into such barbarism?"

Numeta raised a glowing eyebrow and inquired, "Were they that bad?"

Horroway sighed, "I barely recognised them as human, they were filled with such hate and zealotry. Everything laudable about the human spirit had been excised, leaving only unfeeling brutality. Hatred defines them, there was no love in their hearts, no hope. They rail against the cruelty of the universe but can't see the misery they wallow in is of their own making."

Numeta tapped a glowing finger on her forearm as if she was thinking and said, "How did you convince them to join us?"

"I'm not sure," Horroway confessed, "They suddenly changed their minds and informed me they would be coming along. Given how unhappy they were about it I'd wager someone forced them into it. Politics, it seems, is a universal constant."

Numeta looked thoughtful and said, "I have never grasped the logic behind the Imperial's policy of denying the existence of Chaos. Why do they promulgate ignorance?"

Horroway sighed, "They see Chaos as a foreign invader, something they can ward off and drive out. They don't understand that is a reflection of sentient life, a psychic imbalance caused by hatred and fear. They try to fight it off but fail to see they only feed it with every callous death, that every atrocity they commit only makes it stronger. Perhaps the Diasporex should have tried harder to make them understand… but they would never have listened to us."

D'ras must have been listening in for he added, "The Ethereals too thought that knowledge was dangerous. They lied to us about the dangers lurking beneath the stars, telling us it was only Geu'la myths and superstitions. We learned too late that it was no myth, that the horrors were real and they hungered for our lives."

Horroway saw the pain and the terror lurking in the Tau's eyes and knew he was lost in the past. But then a console bleeped loudly and Numeta called, "Recon data inloading."

Horroway sprang from her seat and stepped off her pedestal, hurrying over to a set of consoles where sensor data was streaming in. She fought the urge to look over her crew's shoulders as they poured over the data, picking it apart for vital clues. Minutes crawled by as the information was dissected and she could not help but notice Numeta had frozen, her avatar unmoving as her Binaric self dedicated its processing time to the vast amount of information.

Horroway heard Krang and Robar approaching but they held their tongues until the task was finished and the displays lit up. There was a moment's pause and then a blizzard of icons erupted, each one surrounded by projected vectors, power estimates, mass classifications and gunnery tables. The Orks seemed to be dwelling in a small field of asteroids, not enough to pose a serious threat to astrogation but too many to ignore. They were scores of icons, all swarming around one vast craft and Krang was the first to speak, "That is not good."

Robar concurred, "That is a Frakking awful pile of crap, the Greenskins are everywhere."

Horroway agreed with them, there weren't quite as many Orks as she had feared but still far more than the fleet could reasonably defeat. She glanced at the readouts and saw the Hulk was surrounded by at least a half-dozen capital ships and scores of Ork Frigates. The allied fleet was outnumbered at least three to one. But worse of all was the Hulk itself, a vast conglomeration of vessels and ships, transmitting its name on all frequencies: 'Deffbringa'. Its bulk and power were staggering, it was a mighty monster of the cold void, able to break the allied fleet single-handed, even without its escorts.

Horroway saw her crew's trepidation and knew she had to act firmly and with confidence. She drew in a breath and ordered, "That may be but we still have a few tricks up our sleeves. Numeta run a structural analysis on that Hulk, find me a weak point. D'ras contact the Orreti, tell them to launch a spread of decoy-drones, set for remote activation. Robar prep the reactors and Krang bring the crew to amber-alert status. Move it people, the Greenskins will notice us soon!"

The bridge crew leapt into action as Horroway climbed back up to her chair. She settled back just as Numeta blinked back into life saying, "Captain the Hulk is too powerful to take on head to head, it could absorb everything we could throw at it with ease. It's active and fully powered up, in a shooting match they will certainly win… but it does have a weak spot."

"I like weak spots," Horroway replied with a cold smile, "Tell me more."

Numeta created a micro-image of the Hulk and said, "Its internal structure is a jumble, too much mass off-centre, too many engines pushing in conflicting directions. The only thing holding it together is this fused block of three ships, they are the keystone of the whole thing. If seismic bombs were to be detonated here, here and here, the hulk would lose integrity. The whole thing would shatter apart under its own inertia."

Horroway examined the icon and said, "That would require a boarding action, then fighting through a hulk full of Orks and setting the bombs manually."

"I know it's a long shot but we have no other statistically viable options," Numeta sighed, "Casualties will be high."

"Maybe, maybe not," Horroway countered, "Raise the Thunderchild; I need to talk to the Space Marines."

A moment passed and then a Hololithic image of Captain Toran appeared, armoured and armed as she remembered him. His image was monochrome but his eye still glowed fiercely and he looked as displeased as ever to greet his unwelcome allies. Horroway skipped over the pleasantries and announced, "We have long-range probe data for you, we request permission to send it over."

Toran nodded reluctantly and looked off to the side for a few moments then he said, "The Orks outnumber us three to one."

Despite herself Horroway was impressed, he had processed the tactical data faster than a team of her experts with cogitators had managed. However she replied cooly, "I have an idea on that, the real issue is the Ork's SpaceHulk, codename Deffbringa."

Toran paused and scrutinised something just out of the Hololith's field of view, then proclaimed, "Too big to destroy externally, a boarding action is our best chance. The Codex Astartes decrees that the plasma reactors are the crucial target."

Now Horroway was seriously impressed, the Space Marine's brain had deconstructed the threat and produced a viable strategy faster than a fully-fledged A.I. could achieve. For the first time Horroway grasped how the warriors of the Astartes were rebuilt for battle, not just their bodies but their minds too, turned into peerless tactical cogitators, but at what price she wondered?

She shrugged off the thought and said, "We agree with one proviso, the reactors will be heavily guarded but the hulk is riddled with stress fractures. A trio of seismic charges could break it up, if positioned correctly."

"Yes... I see the stress points," Toran mused thoughtfully, "They would be lightly guarded and we do have such munitions on-board. However getting into boarding range will be challenging."

"We shall cover your approach," Horroway stated confidently, "We know how to fight Orks."

Toran glared at her and said, "Remember, I am in command of this fleet, an army cannot have two masters."

Horroway held up a hand and explained, "I agree but the Diasporex ships will not heed your words unless they are relayed through me. Give me your strategies and I will ensure they are enacted."

"A loose chain of command," Toran growled, "Far from ideal but it will have to do. Make ready, we are crossing into Auspex range... Now."

Horroway nodded and said, "Then I bid you good hunting."

"For Terra and the Living Primarch," Toran stated proudly then his image dissolved.

Horroway rubbed her eyes for a second, Space Marines seemed to treat everything like it was a confrontation, but perhaps for them it was. Horroway looked up and called, "Scarlet-alert, all hands to battle-posts! Sound off all stations."

From around the bridge came various calls, "Void shields raised, guns, Meson-beamers and Ceti disrupter ready. Astrogation standing by, helm responding, reactors at one-hundred percent, sensors at your disposal."

Horroway saw all was ready and proclaimed, "Comrades, the Diasporex goes once more into battle. I know each of you has faced the Orks countless times and I know that once again you shall prove your courage under fire. Stand true as one crew and remember that our unity is our greatest strength!"

The crew let out a brief cheer but then D'ras cried, "Energy spikes, sensors report power surges and movement ahead. The Orks are coming about: they've seen us!"

Horroway felt a cold shiver run down her back but she lifted her head proudly and called, "Prepare for battle, for the Diasporex and for unity!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 15**

The challenger was covered in plates of metal, that was the third thing he noticed, random bits of metal riveted into the green flesh. The second thing he noticed was that the Ork had hardened skin, so dark it was almost black, covering his swollen muscles. But the first thing he noticed, and by far the most important, was the sharpened length of pipe in his big hands, which was coming right at him.

He wasn't concerned though, not by a lone challenger like this. He raised his forearm and caught the pipe half-way along his length. Driven by Ork muscles the pipe crumpled and bent, forming a forty-five degree angle in the metal. He followed that up with a punch to the face, that knocked the challenger back on his arse with a dazed expression. The victor straightened up, as much as his hunched spine would allow, and bellowed, "Any more of you'ze gits wants a go?"

The surrounding crowd of Greenskins shrank back, fearful of their leader's wrath. They were smart to do so for he was massive, a head taller than any other and boasting muscles that verged on the edge of comical. Over that expanse of flesh were draped an assortment of ragged garments, in all hues and colours. He also bore a floppy tricorn hat, with a faded red feather sticking out of it and from his lower jaw protruded a single fang, that was capped with steel and sharpened to a razor's edge. His name was Kaptin Razatoof and he was the master of all he surveyed. Razatoof looked at his surroundings, a massive space filled with smoking cogitators and wheezing power conduits that for want of a better term could be called a bridge. The snaking tubes and wires created the impression of a root network upon a forest floor though its makers had certainly not created this intentionally. Those beings were grotesque parodies of sentient life, each one a brutal and unthinking savage. Some were heavily muscled, some weedy and small but all of them had a cunning glint in their eyes. They were stacked up in rows, rising on all sides and they peered on eagerly as their boss glared back at them.

Razatoof heard a scrape behind him and turned to see his challenger staggering back up. The Kaptin faced him squarely and growled, "Ain't add enough ya Grot?"

The black Ork brandished his bent pipe and roar, "I ain't no Grot, I'z Bigslasha!"

"You'ze nothin' but dead meat!" Razatoof yelled as he leapt forward.

The pair of Orks slammed into each other, hitting and kneeing in a savage frenzy. The black Ork fought with the frantic energy of youth but Razatoof was more cunning and far bigger. The Kaptin let the blows glance off his ribs, the impacts barely shaking him as he threw his arms over his opponent's shoulders. Razatoof heaved and twisted about and then somehow end up with his foe trapped in a headlock, one beefy arm wrapped under the jaw. Razatoof's muscles bulged inhumanly as he exerted titanic pressure, wrenching inexorably to one side. The pinned Ork yelled and battered at his captor but could not break free as his neck was pulled ever further over. Then with a sickening pop the neck snapped and the Ork went limp as his head was wrenched completely around. Razatoof breathed out and let his dead rival drop, then he glared about at the silent Orks and barked, "Wat's you'ze 'orrible lot gawking at, gets back to work!"

The bridge crew averted their gaze and hastily returned to their fritzing consoles. They bent to their tasks, poking at random buttons and tugging levers that seemed to do nothing. Yet some instinct guided their hands for in moments a bizarre order arose, patterns forming in the chaos that in turn restored operations across their vessel. Slowly power trickled in across the length and breadth of the bridge, illuminating sparking lights to reveal trophy skulls from dozens of species and mounds of dung that piled up in the corners. As the power built up snaking cables let out random sparks and one even erupted in a surge of lightning that caught an unsuspecting Ork and burnt him to ash. His comrades guffawed at his misfortune and called dibs on his stuff but they didn't leave their tasks unattended, not with the Kaptin's eye upon them.

Razatoof worked a crick out of his shoulder and stepped to the middle of the bridge, where an Ork in Mega-armour was waiting. This was Skullcrusha, or at least the current one. Razatoof couldn't be bothered to learn new names, so called each successive bodyguard Skullcrusha, oft gifting them the armour of their predecessor. Razatoof had lost count of the number of Skullcrushas he had been through, but if asked he would have guessed, "Lots".

Skullcrusha eyed the dead challenger, now being picked over by arguing Grots and said, "You sure showed him boss."

"Ah, he was a runt," Razatoof replied dismissively, "Gotta break a few 'eads sometimes to keep da rest in line."

"Well you certainly succeeded," Skullcrusha replied confidently.

Razatoof eyed him warily, this latest Skullcrusha was a bit too smart for his liking, and used odd words for one of the Boyz. Razatoof knew he was handy in a fight but didn't like a Boy who thought too much. Razatoof turned to look at his bridge and declared warningly, "Nobody iz gonna take my prize from me… nobody."

It was indeed a mighty prize, this bridge was the control nexus of a gigantic space hulk, the 'Deffbringa'. It was Razatoof's greatest achievement and his pride and joy. The Ork warlord had spent years prowling the space lanes, looting and stealing all he could to get this hulk restored. He had seen off dozens of rival warlords and thieves to keep his prize safe. He had added ships to its mass, including his old Kroozer BigHamma. Thousands of Weirdboyz and Mekboyz had crawled through its innards, awakening systems and adding new ones wherever it pleased them. So much time and labour spent on this one hulk but now it was finally ready and Razatoof intended to make the most of it.

The Kaptain spread his arms wide and proudly declared, "Da Deffbringa is da biggest and da best. With dis I'z is gonna rule da stars."

Skullcrusha replied, "Whatever you say boss."

Razatoof lowered his arms and glared threateningly, "Wat's rule one?"

Wearily Skullcrusha sighed, "The Kaptin is the Kaptin and he's the only Kaptin."

"Don't you'ze forget it," Razatoof growled, "Now where was I… Oh yeah. We'ze gonna break out of dis borin' place and start a proper Waaagh. Da Boyz will come from all over to fite for me."

"About that," muttered Skullcrusha, "Nutgud seems to be having trouble."

Razatoof peered over to where an Ork covered in belts of tools was hitting a console angrily, leaving dents in its case. He had a large eyepiece lowered over one beady eye, that made the orb look massive and he was muttering, "Work you piece'a Kak, work."

Razatoof chomped his jaw and said, "What wrong dis time?"

Nutgud didn't look up but prodded a button at random as he replied, "Excess torque from the misaligned drives are causing lateral spin again. The thrust vectors can't coordinate properly since all the drive cogitators speak different languages."

Razatoof sighed loudly, "You needz to speak proper, innit."

Nutgud looked up and his expression became unfocused for a second then he said, "Da enjins iz pushing us all over da place. We can't go straight."

Razatoof growled, "Dis again, I taught you'ze fixed dat. It's no gud being stuck here with nobody to fite."

"I'm workin' on it," Nutgud spat back, "You try getting dozens a enjins to point da same way."

Razatoof growled in a dangerously low tone, "You'ze getting cheeky with me boy?"

Nutgud blinked and said, "Wat me? Nah, wouldn't do dat. I'z just hacked off with dis kak."

"Gud," Razatoof declared, "Cause soon…"

Suddenly an alarm started wailing high above and a commotion erupted in the higher tiers of seating. Boyz and grots started shouting at each other as consoles sparked and warbled their distress. Rzaztoof's head snapped up and he yelled, "Wat's going on up there?!"

One of the Boyz stood up and yelled, "Kaptin, da Gitfinder iz going nuts! We got some sneaky buggers, coming up fast-like!"

"Show me!" Raztoof shouted causing the crowds of Greenskins to erupt into activity. Wheezing cogitators drank in data from the sensors and struggled to process the information, one machine started to smoke blackly as it overheated but a Mekboy wandered over and poured a bucket of filthy water over it, then kicked it until it came back to life. Eventually a big screen hanging from chains on the ceiling awoke to show a static image, which futzed and jittered for long seconds as the data was translated into a picture that revealed what was occurring outside the hulk. Razatoof peered at the steadying image and made out a formation of ships, headed straight at them.

"Hoomies," Razatoof declared confidently, "Looks like we'ze don't need to go lookin for a scrap. Da fite is coming to us!"

Skullcrusha looked too and said, "Different configurations of ships, we're not facing one kind of human."

"I'z can see dat ya git," Razatoof snarled, "Dat's the Diaspo… disaepor… dasipo… dey nomads. I tussled with dem before, dey like variety."

Skullcrusha stared at the image and said, "But there in the middle, that's no nomad. That's a Space Marine ship."

"Beakies!" Razatoof cried delightedly, "Great! Dey always gives da Boyz a proper fite! Get this hunk a junk movin, I wants to blow dem out of da stars!"

The crew fell into a frenzy of activity as they fought to bring their vast craft around, teams of Orks shouting contradictory orders at each other and resorting to punches when that failed. It was utter calamity in motion and should have made it impossible to steer such a vessel but somehow the Orks did it, purely on instinct they brought the hulk under control. Soon some facsimile of order had been established and Nutgud called out, "Reactors purring, drives going right, for once. Gunz battery one through-ninety ready, launch bays are standing by!"

Razatoof grinned and said, "Dis will be sweet, da hoomies won't know what hit dem. Tell da escorts to get in there to start zoggin and send out da fighta-bombers!"

As they watched the Hulk's escorts raced ahead of it, eager to engage. Razatoof saw streams of fighter-bombers headed outwards, effortlessly outpacing the Greenskin armada, only to be met by clouds of interceptors released by the human vessels. Razatoof jutted his jaw out and said, "Damn it, dey better leave some for us. Dis tub still ain't fast."

Slowly the craft swelled in the viewer as the Hulk closed, and the two fleets crawled ever closer together. Razatoof chomped his jaw in excitement but then Nutgud leapt up and cried, "Erratic power surges, coming in at an oblique angle. Energy levels and vox emissions are consistent with a larger number of contacts!"

Razatoof didn't take his eyes off the viewer but his boot lashed out and caught Nutgud in the groin as he spat, "Speak proper!"

Nutgud doubled over for a second, wheezing with his eyes crossed but then straightened up and said, "Thanks Kaptin…. Da Gitfinder is going crazy. Says we got more hoomies coming in from above and they gots some big ships with dem."

Razatoof peered at the viewer, which was shorting out and struggling to create a coherent picture from the auspex data. After a moment it seemed to decide what it was looking at and projected an image of a second fleet approaching, a much larger one, led by a proud battleship. Razatoof grinned as he proclaimed, "Sneaky berks think we're dumb as a Grot; dis was just a distraction. Dey got us all racin' in one direction then come stab us in the back."

"What are we going to do?" asked Skullcrusha.

Razatoof laughed and said, "Da best fite is behind, so turn us aboot and take us at dem. Send half da escorts out to soften 'em up first. Leave da others here to keep the rest busy. Look alive Boyz, we got us a real fite at last, one dat will start a proper Waaagh!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 16**

Orks filled the Hololith, scores of ramshackle vessels barrelling forwards, filled with violent rage. Countless Gunz jutted from their blunt prows, crude barrels sticking out of mismatched plates that leaked atmosphere. It should have been impossible for such primitive contraptions to move, let alone fight, but as ever with the Greenskins they still did it.

Horroway saw the teeming mass approaching and swallowed in trepidation. They were going head to head against Orks, the one thing you never wanted to do when facing Greenskins. She could imagine their bestial faces, roaring in feral rage and boisterous joy, chomping at the bit for the violence to begin. She rubbed her left shoulder, where a fading scar reminded her of her first encounter with the Orks, but she kept her voice steady as she called, "Status!"

Numeta answered smoothly, "Orks closing rapidly, escorts ahead, capital ships behind. They are rushing forward with no thought for strategy."

"Typical Orks," Krang muttered from the gunnery consoles, "Can't wait to get into a fight."

"That doesn't" make them any less dangerous," Horroway stated, "Any word from the Space Marines?"

D'ras checked before calling, "They say to hold course and do not break formation. All strike craft on stand-by."

Krang declared, "I hope those butchers realise we are not Astartes, our ships can't survive a slogging match for long."

Horroway agreed but explained, "I gave them an overview of our tactical capabilities, they know our limits."

Suddenly Numeta interrupted, "Fighta-Bombers launching!"

Horroway looked at the Hololith and saw hordes of tiny craft appearing, hundreds upon hundreds of chunky strike craft racing ahead of the Ork fleet. Their stubby wings were laden with bombs and missiles, and they promised swift death to the entire fleet. Horroway saw their teeming numbers and knew that they could wreak havoc even without support.

Yet D'ras called out, "Signal from the Space Marines: launch fighters!"

Instantly Horroway called, "Relay to the Orreti, tell them we need interceptor-drones now!"

The Hololith stuttered for a second then cleared to show a wave of friendly strike craft spilling into the void. The Arsenal ship boasted large pods hanging off its frame, each covered in small dimples. From these arose clouds of machines, who's engine pods stuck out like spokes on a wheel, propelling the drones with shocking speed. These machines were deceptively small, lacking pilots or life-support gear, but they were still deadly. Each one boasted a trio of las-cannons and a bank of short-range missiles, more than enough to tear apart an Ork Fighta-bomber.

They were joined by more conventional craft, mercenary fighters from the Fortune's Fool and Astartes gunships from the Thunderchild. They tore across the void, heading right at the oncoming enemy. Horroway could not help but notice that they flew in their own formations, none of them really coordinating with the other groups, a sign of their mutual distrust. Against a disciplined foe that would have been a fatal weakness but the Orks had no such advantage. As soon as the fighters appeared the Ork craft broke off their attack run, headed straight at the closer enemy. Their pilot's desired only battle and the prospect of a void-brawl was too tempting to deny.

Horroway breathed a sigh of relief as the strike craft dispersed into a swirling cloud of whirling dogfights, hundreds of tiny craft all chasing each other across the void. The Orks had the weight of numbers but the begrudging allies had skill and daring, it would be hard fought but the important thing was that the Ork's fighta-bombers presented no threat for now. Horroway leaned back and examined the Hololith again, seeing the heavier ships closing. She considered the vectors and the weight of firepower coming towards them and determined that the odds were not favourable at all. She mentally counted off her options and decided the time had come to do something about that. The Captain lifted her voice and called, "Mr D'ras, signal the Orreti, tell them it's time."

She settled back and watched the Hololith keenly, waiting for the results of her orders. The screen flickered for a moment and then from nowhere a new set of icons emerged, each one blazing with signal noise. There was Jupiter class battleship with three cruisers and half-dozen escorts, a potent force indeed. Such a fleet could turn the whole battle upon its head… so it was a shame that they weren't real.

Suddenly D'ras spun about and called, "Captain, the Space Marines are on the line, they sounded rather upset."

Horroway nodded and ordered, "Put them through."

In seconds a Hololithic image appeared, Toran in his plate, looking fit to burst with outrage. The Astartes fixed her with a glare and shouted, "What treachery is this?! You had more ships in the area all along; your betrayal will cost you dearly!"

Horroway enjoyed his look of consternation for a second but raised her hands and said, "Calm yourself, this is not what you think. Those ships are not real; they are a product of our drone technology, a decoy force to lure away the Orks."

"Not real," Toran breathed suspiciously, "These are only auspex illusions and surveyor shadows?"

Horroway explained, "Ships beyond visual range are only trackable only by their energy output and those drones are projecting waves of power into the void. It takes many drones to simulate a capital ship, but working together they can appear to be the drive output of an entire fleet, we've even added false vox transmissions to simulate ship-to-ship chatter."

Toran paused for long seconds in contemplation then said, "The power requirements must be enormous, no device so small could sustain such a projection for long."

Horroway suppressed a twitch under one eye, the Space Marine had only just heard of the concept and he had instantly identified the main flaw in the system, he really was built for war. Horroway tried to sound confident as she replied, "They will last long enough to draw off some of the Orks."

Toran's one eye narrowed and he said, "You did not include this in your tactical brief, I needed to know about this."

Horroway snapped back, "Have you told me all your secrets?"

Toran snorted in amusement at that but he was looking out of the projection and he said, "It appears to be working, the Orks are breaking off."

Horroway looked up and saw three of the Ork's capital ships and a dozen escorts were veering off to chase the decoy-drones. As always Orks couldn't resist attacking the biggest target and the ghost battleship presented by far the biggest challenge. Horroway held her breath as the vectors changed, silently running calculations in her head. Space was vast and ships travelled with inexorable momentum, every degree the Orks shifted would cost them minutes to correct, every kilometre would be paid for in precious time, once they realised the ghosts were nothing but illusions.

Horroway gripped her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white but then the Orks crossed an invisible line, committing themselves to the pursuit. Horroway turned to Toran's wavering image and said, "That's it, they've gone too far off course. It will take them hours to turn about and re-engage, this battle will be decided long before they can make any difference."

Toran's image nodded and said, "Effective strategy, the foe has been cut in half. Yet the remainder continue their attack run, we must prepare to meet them. All capital ships will commence sheer manoeuvre, swing to port and form line astern formation. Prepare long-range gunnery and await my signal. Escorts are to move above the relative plane of battle, swing up out of the line of fire and prepare for a vertical counter-attack."

Horroway nodded and called, "Mr D'ras bring us to port and relay orders to the fleet. Mr Krang ready a shooting solution for the starboard guns, hold Meson-Beamers in reserve." As Horroway watched the stars wheeled in the Hololith, bringing the ships sideways on to the attack. Horroway had seen Imperials charging into the fray before, trusting to armoured prows and torpedo volleys to break the enemy lines, but the Diasporex lacked such brutal defences. Yet what they lost in heavy armour was more than made up for by long-range gunnery.

Horroway saw the Orks closing at full speed, a score of escorts flying straight at them in a headlong rush. She could hear her heart pounding at the prospect of battle but kept a cool head, she had to look confident. She saw her crew nervously waiting for the first shot to be fired and she spoke to reassure them, "Hold fast my friends, the Bonaventure has never let us down before and she won't fail us now!"

The crew steadied their hands on the console and steeled their hearts but then Toran called, "Orks crossing into gun range, fire on my mark… MARK!"

"Fire!" Horroway shouted and a heartbeat later the Bonaventure shook with the familiar vibration of the main guns discharging. Huge blasts of plasma fire erupted from the starboard flank, each one capable of destroying an army, all headed at the closing Orks. Horroway held her breath as the wave of destruction moved in the Hololith, intercepting the oncoming Orks. The blasts struck the escorts head on and flared as they contacted crude protective shields, unleashing their power in blazes of light.

Horroway watched the destruction unfold but was not elated by it. The range had been too great and the barrage had dissipated, not enough of them striking any one target overcome their protection: the Orks were unharmed. She heard gasps among the crew but she was done yet and called, "Meson-Beamers, fire!"

Two more spears of energy erupted, this time travelling at light-speed. They tore into the closing Orks and pinned a single frigate in their destructive embrace. Shields instantly collapsed and the beams bored into the rude hull, tunnelling through plates and compartments with ease. Meson-beams lacked the raw destructive power of Imperial lances but they were far more coherent. The beams speared deeper and deeper into the hull, triggering secondary explosions of fuel and ordnance deep within the frigate. The escort rocked under the power of the secondary detonations and then the meson-beams encountered something critical and the vessel blew apart, destroyed in a flaming ball of twisted wreckage.

A cheer erupted from the crew as the Orks were destroyed and Horroway felt the giddy rush of the kill. Yet she was not so blasé as to forget the rest of the Greenskins barrelling down on them. As her crew cheered she stared into the Hololith as waited to see the results of the rest of the fleet's efforts. The Fortune's Fool lacked the enhanced range of the others and so had to wait, whereas the Arsenal ship and the Gun-Brigs were far more focussed upon other roles, but they did have meson-beamers of their own.

The three ships coordinated their fire, concentrating on another Ork escort. One beam missed entirely but two more struck it dead on and ripped through its protections with ease. Once more an Ork ship was dissected by pinpoint energy blasts and it proved just as vulnerable as its companion. It exploded spectacularly, disintegrating in a cloud of broken spars and flaming debris. The remains ploughed into its companions, knocking down their shields with tangled debris and detonating wreckage.

Two Ork ships had been destroyed but what took Horroway's breath away was the Thunderchild. Its flanks were lighting up with rank after rank of artillery. Not just plasma but Turbolasers, Grav-projectors, Macrocanons and missile volleys. These were crude and simple weapons but Horroway was startled by their density and cumulative destructive potential. She was forced to hastily re-evaluate the capabilities of the Space Marine vessel, she wouldn't have believed anything short of a battleship could unleash such devastation.

The fusillade travelled slowly through the void but it caught the Orks just as their shields were failing and it ripped a pair of escorts into shreds. Armour failed, compartments were blown open and power lines severed under the onslaught as the craft were battered into submission. One escort rolled over and went into a powerless spin, while a second fell behind, trailing flaming oxygen from every inch of its hull.

Horroway was amazed, their first volley had been potent indeed and she heard Krang call, "Targets well struck!"

Horroway couldn't celebrate yet though, the Orks had been dealt a heavy blow but the rest were barrelling onwards, closing into their own gun range undaunted. She lifted her chin and called out, "The Greenskins aren't just going to give up, look sharp people, here they come!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 17**

The decks rang with the clamour of battle, the grinding of munition hoists, the buzzing of void fields and the shouting of serfs. The Thunderchild was filled with this racket, a cacophonous din that made ears ring and forced men to shout the simplest of instructions. To any civilian it would have sounded like insanity but to an experienced void-sailor this was the comforting sounds of a well-run ship, heading into the fray.

Furion barely noticed the din as he strode along, so accustomed was he to war. He marched rapidly and serfs hastily made way, parting before the dour vision of a Chaplain bearing down on them. Besides him his companion was forced to jog along, her shorter legs compelling her to adopt a child-like skip. She was Inquisitor Vevara and she was most unhappy about the situation, mostly because Furion's left hand was wrapped like a vice around her right arm. One step behind came Cortha, watching the display with keen interest.

Vevara twisted and squirmed as she spat angrily, "Let me go!"

Furion however didn't comply, gripping her so tightly that she had to run along else have her arm shattered. He drew in a breath and explained, "You are in danger, it is imperative that we get you to safety."

Vevara battered her left hand at his giant fist but was ineffectual as a child as she spat, "I am an Inquisitor, you know the consequences of disobeying me!"

"I know the consequences if you get yourself killed," Furion replied, "If you fail to return safely my Chapter will be cast out as Traitors. We have to make sure you survive this battle."

Vevara was dragged along as she hissed, "I will not forget this insult."

Furion felt a dark impulse to close his grip, not enough to cause harm but enough to remind the woman that he could break every bone in her body, but then he shook off the impious thought. He had to remain calm so he replied coolly, "Inquisitor, I have no time for your delicate sensibilities, my orders are to keep you alive by any means necessary, if that requires me to gag you I will."

Vevara fell silent as she was dragged to an empty set of quarters, Furion opened the door by pressing upon a runepad and then propelled her inside with a shove no mortal could have resisted. Vevara spun around in indignation but before she could decry her outrage Furion shut the door. The Chaplain then drove his fist into the controls, shattering them utterly to make sure she didn't have some Inquisitorial override. "Make sure she stays there," he muttered to Cortha then strode away leaving his apprentice behind.

Furion hastily made his way to the bridge, traversing compartments and grav-lifts as he wended his way to the nerve centre of the ship. The crew attended their duties with frantic haste but he walked past them with a confident stride, it would not do to have the serfs see one of their masters running like a man late for a meeting. He was only a couple of decks away when he felt the distinctive rumble of the main guns firing and he grimaced, the battle was upon them.

At last Furion approached the bridge, passing along the long exposed corridor that left boarders no cover, as well as the multiple sentry guns and defender's emplacements. He strode through the hatch and emerged into the bridge, only to find it wracked with tension. In racked pews the serf crew and servitors were frantically performing their duties, while being overseen by their Storm Herald masters. At the distant end of the bridge armoured louvre's had closed over the Oculus and nearer was the command Dias, where Captain Toran and Apothecary Memnos were standing. Hanging in mid-air was a glowing Hololith projection, which showed the tactical situation outside.

Furion had fought here many times, usually from the helm position, but now he was a Chaplain and his place was at his Captain's side. Furion leapt onto the Dias and said, "What's happening?"

Memnos glanced back and said, "Nice of you to join us. The Orks are coming right at us, we're about to take a battering."

Furion glanced at the Hololith and saw swarms of fighter craft, engaged in the darkness of space. Just a glance was enough to tell him that the Thunderhawks were wreaking carnage, their superior piloting and armaments decimating the foe. This was to be expected but was what surprising were the Diasporex fighters, some form of pilotless drones like Mechanicus automatons but exceptionally agile and powerful. The mercenaries were there too, but Furion didn't rate their abilities as anything other than adequate. Set against them were clouds of Ork craft, far greater in number if not skill, swirling about in a frenzied attempt to pick off the defenders.

The combat was brutal and savage but Furion could see that they were stalemated. What was far more concerning though were the arrowheads of escorts, closing rapidly and spiking with the power signatures of weapons preparing to fire. From the Sensorium station Persion called up, "Enemies closing, we have multiple vessels locking on!"

Toran responded by ordering, "All decks, brace for impact!"

The crew leapt to obey, ordering compartments sealed and vital sections to be surrounded by protective force fields. Munition hoists were suspended, magazines locked down and heavy blasts doors sealed shut, any crew trapped in a breached compartment would surely die but the rest of the ship would survive. All over the ship power drained away from weapons and manoeuvring systems as the Thunderchild prepared for the oncoming barrage.

As the seconds crawled by Memnos muttered, "This will drain power from our return salvo."

"Can't be helped," Furion replied distractedly as he watched the crew at work, "The Thunderchild doesn't have the heavy armour of a Battlebarge, she was built for speed not a slogging match."

Suddenly Persion leapt up and cried, "Orks preparing to fire, six of them have picked us out!"

The serf crew shivered in fear but Furion lifted his voice and cried, "Be not afraid sons of the Emperor! The foe comes, red in tooth and claw but they know not what they face. You are the bravest of mortal men, danger and death have you faced countless times and always you have triumphed! There is nothing those Orks can do that can match what you have already overcome and you shall know only contempt for their feeble efforts!"

The words steadied the serfs at their posts but barely a second later the Orks opened fire. The prows of the escorts spawned smoky explosions, each one signalling the launch of a building-sized projectile. They were simple ballistics, with no guidance or targeting beyond the strange processes of Ork cogitation but there were shells beyond counting, each one packed with a megaton of explosives. The solid wall of shells crossed the distance between the two forces with inevitable momentum and fell upon the allied ships, surrounding them with explosions.

The Thunderchild's shields flared as they struggled to dissipate the onslaught, desperately shunting the energy aside. The ship seemed wreathed in lightning and within men held on desperately and waited for their doom to fall. On the bridge Furion felt the deck lurch under him as the feedback from the shield generators made the artificial gravity convulse and the bridge seemed to heave upwards and then back down. He refused to show any signs of concern though, standing proudly in the midst of the hurricane even as he heard Librarian Arvael call out from the Enginarium pit "Shields buckling!"

"Hold fast!" Furion cried aloud as the barrage continued, smashing into the weakening shields. On the Orks came, charging gleefully with their guns blazing, bearing down on their prey like diving hawks. Furion heard Arvael cry, "Shields collapsing!" Then the protective envelope blew out, leaving the ship defenceless. The Thunderchild pitched violently, throwing men to the floor with cries of terror.

Furion could hear the hull ringing with impacts, its mighty armour being breached by a deluge of shells. Explosions walked their way up the spine of the ship, venting compartments, blowing off turrets and breaking vital munition feeds. One shell penetrated deeply into the hull before detonating, rupturing half-a-dozen compartments and killing hundreds of serfs even before it exploded. The whole ship violently rocked to port, the devastating blast throwing it to one side.

Furion held on as tightly as he could, trying to look calm but the ship was hurt badly and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But then without warning the torrent suddenly stopped, the Ork's barrage had ended. The crew looked up, appearing dazed and confused but Furion leaned over the rail of the command dais and called, "Get back to your posts! Make haste, the eyes of the Emperor are upon you!"

Besides him Captain Toran called, "Damage report!"

Arvael answered, "Damage to dorsal armour, multiple breaches, fires erupted on three decks but they were contained by our brace action, the vacuum of space will put them out. But we have critical hits to the munition hoists on the starboard side, our right fire arc is off-line until we can repair the damage."

Resolutely Toran commanded, "Make repairs your top priority, we need those guns. Where are the Orks?"

Persion called out, "Closing fast, they will pass right over us and then swing about for another run."

"The hell they will," Toran snarled, "Divert power to the Bombardment cannons, Jediah, prepare to shoot at the point the Orks will pass closest to us."

From the gunnery pews Jediah called, "Weapons are sluggish, we need time to recharge the capacitors."

Toran responded, "Then we shall have to make every shot count. Now what of the rest of the fleet?"

At that moment Furion was distracted by a serf standing nervously at the foot of the dais and he lowered his skull helm to stare as he said, "Report."

The serf stammered, "My… my lord, we have crew trapped in a breached compartment. They are running out of air, the damage control parties beseech the bridge to override the machine spirits and let them rescue the men."

Furion's voice was grim as he said, "That is foolish, we cannot violate a vacuum seal, we would lose hundreds of lives for the hopeless fantasy of saving dozens."

"But... its only one door," the serf dared as he glanced at Toran's back.

"Do not look at him, look at me," Furion sternly admonished him, "Void protocols are clear and absolute, there can be no exceptions, not for anyone."

"Yes master," the serf replied lowering his eyes.

Furion saw the loss in his eyes and relented just enough to say, "Sacrifice is expected of all of us, even we masters. I would expect no less was it myself behind that door, as should you. Honour the dead by seeking to avenge them."

The serf replied, "I understand."

Suddenly Toran's voice interrupted, "Damn it enginarium, I need more power!"

From a vox speaker Techmarine Hevostan's voice came back, "The Machine Spirits are offended by such contrary orders. We are lighting votive candles as fast as we can but restoring power takes time."

It was a desperate struggle but Furion saw that their time was up and he shouted, "Here they come!"

Toran's head snapped up and he shouted, "Fire bombardment cannons!"

Along the spine of the Thunderchild massive barrels had elevated, pointed right at the oncoming Orks. They were each as wide as a Titan is tall and their ordnance was designed to break cities from orbit. Slowly they came to bear and then one by one they erupted with plumes of fire, flinging shells into the void.

Furion could feel the reverberations in his boots and instantly knew it was off. The brace action had left the guns sluggish and slow, unable to fire to full effect. He watched the Hololith but had no expectations, knowing that it would be pure luck if they managed a kill. Sure enough only one shell hit an Ork vessel and it was deflected away by its shields, doing no damage at all.

"Damnation," Jediah roared from the gunnery pews, "That should have been a kill!"

But then Memnos cried, "They're passing us!"

Moving an appreciable fraction of the speed of light the Orks flashed past the Thunderchild, skimming past its bow, tauntingly its enfeebled guns. They dashed back off into the void, already seeking to turn about and shed inertia so they could re-engage. Furion saw they would be back within minutes and said, "Captain, we need to reposition, fast."

Toran agreed and called, "Helm bring us to port and Persion signal the fleet to fire freely. Jediah get those guns back to full power, now!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 18**

"Full power restored," Numeta exclaimed with a triumphant grin.

Horroway heard and replied, "Good, get us after those Orks. Krang, ready all weapons, prepare for close quarter broadsides."

The crew sprang to obey and Horroway had a moment to survey the bridge. All around multiple species worked frantically to bring the Bonaventure about, harried by the knowledge that even now the Greenskins would be doing the same. The Diasporex cruiser had endured the Ork's initial salvo, her shields being battered but holding true. It had been harrowing but the Bonaventure had not been their true target. Horroway's eye travelled to the Hololith and she saw the Thunderchild at the head of their formation. A full third of the Orks had focused upon her and it showed. She had taken a pounding and trails of gas poured from her starboard side, not a good sign. She was moving sluggishly, seemingly having trouble restoring her own power levels. But she was still in the fight.

Elsewhere the Orreti Arsenal ship was struggling along, several pods having being ripped from her hull. The loss of drone capacity was worrying but there was nothing that could be done about that. The Borlac Gun-Brigs on the other hand had weathered the storm, their heavy armour designed for such brutal close quarters fighting. The biggest surprise had been the Fortune's Fool, whose bizarre shield matrix had absorbed the damage with ease, her overlapping energy fields enduring far more than a ship her class should be able to.

The fleet had survived the initial barrage but Horroway saw the Ork escorts were coming about, preparing for another pass. Elsewhere the clouds of strike craft still duelled on, they were holding the line but being pressed back by the weight of numbers. There was no way to tell if the allies could hold them off forever. Beyond them the trio of Ork Cruisers still ploughed on, seeking to join the battle.

Horroway absorbed this and saw that the battle hung in the balance. She drew in a breath and called, "They're coming to bear, where are my weapons?!"

Krang called back, "Port weapon battery locking on, they're in range of the prow guns too. Meson-Beamers ready."

Horroway commanded, "Then by all means, fire!"

The side of the Bonaventure lit up, flinging plasma blasts into the void. She was the only ship able to fire at full effect, the rest of the fleet still struggling to restore power to their weapons. The barrage was focussed and intense, a broadside that would have ripped open anything it hit. Yet even at close-ranges space remained vast and the escorts were moving abeam to the barrage. Only a few blasts stuck a single frigate, barely enough to overload its shields yet that left it vulnerable and exposed. A second later a Meson-Beam caught it dead-on and bored into its gaping thrusters, blowing apart containment chambers and fuel lines. The escort was blown sideways by the blast, sent into a lateral spin that hurled it off into the empty wastes of space. A mad tumble that would never cease.

The bridge crew cheered at the sight but it was a small triumph for the Orks had come about, once more firing into the battered shields of the fleet. Horroway felt the Bonaventure lurch, shields blazing with power as they fought to keep the devastation at bay. The Orks were fast and vicious, but this time they were not unopposed.

At last the rest of the fleet had got their power back up and they responded with salvos of their own. The void between the two fleets lit up with tracers of shells and the contrails of missiles mixed with searing las-blasts and plasma bolts. The Fortune's Fool concentrated all its guns on a single escort and inundated it with explosions. Waves of firepower washed over the ramshackle craft, overloading its shields and gouging craters into its mismatch armour. The fusillade poured on, smashing ever deeper into the rude hull and reducing the craft to a tumbling ball of wreckage. The Orks didn't take that kindly though, surrounding the cruiser and battering at its flickering shields, pushing them to the limit.

Elsewhere the Gun-Brigs broke formation and leapt joyfully into the fray. Their main weapons were fixed in a forward arc, requiring them to turn about but they were extremely manoeuvrable for ships their size and made the turn. Their prows lit up as they flung Atomonic bombs towards the Greenskins and space erupted in blazing balls of light and energy. The barrage was simple and direct but astonishingly effective, blowing two Ork craft apart with contemptuous ease. Return fire fell upon the Borlac ships but their heavy armour held firm and they ploughed on, still firing. Meanwhile, the Arsenal ship blasted away with its puny guns, but made no real impression upon the foe with its paltry fire.

At the head of the fleet the Thunderchild was swathed in explosions as the Orks swarmed all around her, she was taking the brunt of the onslaught but her own guns were giving as good as they got. Her port side lit up with a tremendous broadside that overloaded a pair of escort's shields then the Bombardment cannons swung about and fired. Great plumes of fire erupted as bombs meant to kill cities were flung into the void. The magma-bombs caught the unshielded escorts squarely and ploughed into their structures, plunging deep within before detonating. The frigates blew apart like bodies hit by bolt-rounds, leaving only burning debris where they had been.

The Orks had suffered a savage mauling but there were still a dozen of them and they swarmed over the fleet, gunz blazing ferociously. The Bonaventure rocked under the onslaught of four escorts and Horroway had to grasp onto her chair as the feedback made the artificial gravity convulse. From among the crew she heard Robar shout, "It's too much, shields are buckling!"

Horroway roared, "Fire all guns!"

Krang shouted back, "We have no shooting solution!"

But Horroway only shouted back, "Fire now!"

The Bonaventure once more flung its fury into the void but there had been insufficient time to coordinate the barrage. The plasma blasts deflected off shields harmlessly, leaving the Orks free to charge onwards, Gunz firing furiously. The Bonaventure's shields turned opaque under the strain, desperately struggling to hold firm against the violence. Horroway heard her crew cry out in distress but refused to show fear as she cried, "Fire Ceti-disrupter!"

"Disrupter ready, firing in five seconds," Krang called back.

On the Bonaventure's spine a single canon elevated, an elongated weapon as long as an escort frigate, surrounded in bulbous protrusions and focussing rings. It was a product of alien design and served a singular function. The bulbous cannon elevated to point right at a frigate and glowed brightly for a second, then it discharged a continuous ray of electromagnetic energies. The ray clipped an escort but the effect was instantaneous, arcing lightning spreading over the craft like a static discharge, disrupting power conduits and flash-burning cogitators. The frigate's gunz fell silent, its weaponry rendered useless as its crew struggled to understand what was happening to their systems. They were alive but out of this fight for as long as it took to restore their systems.

"Target well struck," Krang yelled in triumph, "Their gunz are down!"

"One down," Horroway muttered, "Three to go."

She looked into the Hololith and tried to see what was occurring. The allied fleet was beset on all sides, Orks swirling everywhere. The exchange of fire was brutal and devastating but she spied one asset yet to be deployed. Horroway called, "D'ras contact the Orreti, tell them to launch all Heavy-drones!"

"Aye Captain," D'ras yelled back and bent to his task.

Horroway watched the Hololith as the Arsenal ship began disgorging drone-craft. These were much larger and heavier than the recon-probes or interceptors. Yet unlike their counterparts these drones carried the heaviest ordnance, packed to burst with ship-killing plasma missiles. The unpiloted drones were the Orreti's answer to conventional bombers and just as deadly.

Horroway watched with bated breath as the heavy-drones crawled across the Hololith, racing to reach the Orks that were pounding upon her shields. She clung on for dear life and just for once wished the Diasporex believed in gods, though whether it was to have someone to pray to or curse at she did not know. Her eyes tracked the drones as they crawled slowly towards them and she muttered, "Come on, come on, come on."

The distance closed so very slowly but then the Orks saw them and space filled with turret fire. Torrents of flak poured out into the void, bisecting space in a deadly web. The drones engaged in evasive manoeuvres but they were fat and slow, encumbered by bulky ordnance. Icon after icon disappeared off the screen as drones were blown apart and Horroway counted with dread as the numbers fell. But then at last they were in range and the surviving drones let slip their missiles. Seconds later flares of light announced a pair of frigates being blown apart, torn asunder by plasma fire.

"Two targets destroyed," D'ras called as the crew cheered elatedly, "The third is breaking off. Heavy-Drones took severe casualties though; we don't have enough for another strike."

"We'll cope," Horroway stated with a confidence she did not truly feel, "Now prepare to…"

But suddenly Numeta interrupted, "New contacts, new contacts! It's the Scythians!"

Horroway felt hope surge within her as she saw it was indeed true. The Scythian sloops and the Rogue Trader's mercenary escorts were diving into the fray, closing along a vertical axis. They were already firing, unleashing plasma and meson-beams into the battle, catching the Orks unprepared.

Horroway saw that the plan had worked, by stopping to engage the biggest capital ships the Orks had lost precious inertia and were effectively pinned in place, easy targets for the fast-moving reinforcements. Like guards breaking up a riot the escorts plunged into the battle, smashing the Orks with ease. The Greenksins tried to reply but their gunz all faced forwards and they could not turn fast enough to meet the new wave of attackers. The allies had speed and position and weight of fire on their side and they annihilated all they targeted.

Krang roared, "Die filthy greenskins!"

Horroway found herself agreeing with him and declared, "What an attack run, tis a thing of beauty!"

The whole bridge was filled with cries of triumph as the Orks were swept from the stars, leaving only death and destruction behind. Horroway felt her crew's relief but knew it was too early to celebrate yet. She eyed the Hololith and saw three more icons closing into range, the Ork Capital ships were at last about to engage. By rushing headlong into the fray the escorts had been vulnerable and isolated but these fresh ships still represented a serious threat to the allies.

D'ras turned about and declared, "Signal from the Space Marines, they say all ships are to form up and prepare to engage the capital ships with a broadside."

Horroway nodded and ordered, "Get back to your posts, tend to your duties! The Orks aren't done yet. Robar, cycle the reactors; I want full power to all systems. Helm come to course 305' by 010'one-half thrust: present our starboard guns to the foe."

The crew obeyed with alacrity and the Hololith spun as the Bonaventure pointed its weapons at the closing enemies. Horroway saw the battle hung in the balance and she knew the next few minutes would decide everything. Even though the allies now had the advantage of numbers the Ork craft were brutal killers, festooned with gunz; this was going to take everything they had.

Then unexpectedly Numeta gasped, "By the galactic maw, what is he doing?"

Horroway started in surprise and said, "What is it?"

Numeta cried, "The Fortune's fool is breaking formation and turning away from the fight. She's accelerating on an escape vector and taking her escorts with him!"

Horroway's jaw dropped and she watched in horror as the icons in the Hololith began to diverge, the Rogue Trader vessel fleeing the fight at the most critical moment. A huge gap had just been blown in their formation, a weakness the Orks were already turning to exploit. The Greenskins had a perfect opportunity to shatter the allies now and they knew it.

Horroway's soul cried out in denial but her eyes saw the inescapable truth: a third of their fleet was disengaging and abandoning them to the savagery of the Ork's. She gasped aloud in disbelief, "He's cutting and running, Saffor's leaving us to die!"


	19. Chapter 19

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 19**

The Kroozers tore through space, charging headlong at the vulnerable allies with inexorable might. They were savage and merciless, built only for destruction. The three ships were vast, slab-sided behemoths, each bristling with prow gunz and deadly weapons. Once these ships had been proud craft of their respective races but now they were ugly and scarred wrecks, brought back to life by the Greenskin's insane talents for customisation and looting.

Within their hulls Orks laughed and jeered at the sight awaiting them, the scattered and helpless allies. They barked commands at scrawny Grots to load shells into gaping barrels and whipped slaves taken from a hundred worlds. Their victims wept and pleaded for clemency but the Orks only laughed and beat them harder, the concept of mercy as foreign to them as peace. Creaking cogitators spat out bizarre targeting algorithms, that would have made no sense to human crews, but somehow the Orks made them work regardless.

The three ships were each modified in different ways, having little to do with combat performance and more to do with the Mekboy's whims. One of the Kroozer's prows had been sculpted to resemble a leering Ork skull, affecting the appearance of bristles with the number of weapons poking out of its face. Another had an immense red fin sticking out of its back, making it look like an oceanic predator, swimming towards helpless prey. The last one was covered in skeletal remains, the bones of the Ork's victims riveted to the hull. They were shorn of flesh and bleached by solar winds but their grinning skulls promised the inevitable fate of all who stood against the Orks.

Captain Horroway gasped as the Orks bore down upon them, headed right for the gap left by the fleeing Fortune's Fool. She was struggling to understand what had happened, how Saffor could have done this. He had left them to the cruel attentions of the Orks, shattering their formation and robbing them of a third of their firepower. She heard D'ras frantically signalling the fleeing Rogue Trader, but no response was forthcoming, he wasn't interested in talking.

Horroway sat there for long seconds, paralysed by shock and disbelief. Yet in her mind a small voice cried out that she had to do something, the crew was looking to her for orders and if she did nothing then they would all die here. "Shields," she croaked under her breath but then swallowed and yelled loudly, "Shields! All power to the shields!"

The sound of her voice stirred the crew to action and sluggishly they began to move. Robar marched among them, his Imperial discipline showing as he barked, "Move it you laggardly curs, get those power relays switched over now! You there, get your eyes back on your console, you've got an alarm blaring on the fourteenth emitter array!"

Slowly the Bonaventure prepared to meet the oncoming Orks, throwing up every defence she could. It was barely in time for the Kroozers charged into range, prows already lighting up with barrages of firepower. The onslaught caught the fleet in its confused and panicked state, slamming into their wallowing formation right at the moment of maximum vulnerability.

Horroway heard her ship's systems scream as a wall of munitions slammed into the shields, far more than the escorts had produced. The Bonaventure quivered under the blows, overloads tearing power lines apart and making alarms ring on every deck. The bridge was filled with the terrifying screams of machines pushed beyond their limits and the cries of crewmen fighting to keep them from exploding. Robar looked ashen-faced as he reported, "Shields collapsing, it's too much!"

"She can take it," Horroway proclaimed for her crew's benefit, "They can't keep this up for long."

As if to spite her the Orks kept firing, unloading a shocking amount of firepower in a few seconds. The Bonaventure's shields buckled under the strain then blew out in an electromagnetic blast, letting shells impact her hull. Horroway was almost thrown from her seat as the ship jolted sideways, thrown through space by the force of the detonations. The whole bridge tilted alarmingly as the artificial gravity fought to keep pace and the Captain was forced to hold onto her chair to prevent herself falling to the floor.

The crew cried out in various tongues as the Bonaventure was savaged, her armour ripping apart and compartments venting atmosphere and flailing bodies into space. Robar shouted up, "Damage to the starboard flanks, we have fires spreading in sections thirteen to forty-seven!"

Desperately Horroway shouted, "Engage port-dorsal and starboard-ventral thrusters, roll us to port. Roll us over!"

Slowly the ship began to roll, presenting its undamaged belly armour to the oncoming barrage, shells still hit the hull ceaselessly but the manoeuvre spread the damage out over a wider area and no one section took catastrophic damage. Slowly the Bonaventure rolled, weathering the onslaught until at last the Ork's barrage ceased, their gunz finally exhausted.

Horroway pushed an errant strand of grey hair back into place with a trembling hand as she called, "Damage report!"

Robar called back, "Heavy damage to starboard flank, casualties estimated at nine hundred dead. We also have fires raging on several decks."

"Evacuate those compartments then vent the air into space," Horroway commanded pushing the harrowing casualty figures to the back of her mind. Death was a constant presence in the lives of any void-farers and even a victorious battle cost lives. Mourning would come later but for now she had to concentrate on saving those still alive.

Numeta's projection suddenly appeared and said, "All ships reporting damage, but nothing crippling as yet, they divided their firepower too much. But now the Orks are changing course towards the Thunderchild, all three of them are locking on."

D'ras called, "The Space Marines are calling for reinforcements!"

Horroway looked into the Hololith and saw the Kroozers bearing down on the lone ship, pinning it in a deadly triangle. Their Gunz would surely be reloading even now and together they could put out a barrage that would obliterate the Astartes vessel. The Thunderchild was trying to bring her own guns to bear but her starboard weapons were still critically damaged and her port weapons couldn't fend off three ships at once. It was the old naval adage, mass doubled is power squared so the Orks held all the advantages.

Without hesitation Horroway called, "Bring us to bear, order the Diasporex to form up behind us. We can still turn this around."

With an angry snarl Krang protested, "Captain, are we really risking our lives for Imperials?"

Horroway gritted her teeth and said, "We have to, the Orks will pick us off one by one unless we fight together."

Yet Numeta spun about in her column of light and said, "Captain, there is an alternative. The Orks are turning away, they are ignoring us for the moment. The path to the Space Hulk is clear, if we break off now we can make our own attack run."

Robar shouted up, "Leave the Space Marines to die alone? What kind of strategy is that?!"

"An effective one," Numeta stated coldly, "Their deaths will buy us the time to reach the target."

"And who will make the boarding action?" Robar barked.

"I can do it," Krang declared boldly, "We don't need them."

"They'll die," objected Robar.

"Good," snarled Krang, "They deserve it."

Horroway heard their arguments and wrestled with the fact that she had no love for the Imperials, they certainly wouldn't lift a finger to help her were the situation reversed. But then she looked once more at the Ork vessels and remembered the creed of the Diasporex, that they were better together than alone. The Greenskins didn't care about their differences, they fought anybody and everybody.

Horroway shouted, "Enough of this! Get us pointed at the Orks, we are taking the fight to them!"

"But…" Krang uttered,

Sternly Horroway commanded, "I have given you an order and you shall obey, else I shall have you thrown in the brig."

Krang bared his throat in submission and returned to his post. Horroway watched for a moment then called, "Signal the fleet to follow us in."

Hesitantly D'ras replied, "The other Captains aren't happy about this."

"Then tell them they can lodge a complaint with the Senate," Horroway called, "But make it clear they shall obey."

Responding to her will the Bonaventure came about, the rest of her compatriots following reluctantly behind. They headed directly for the Ork Kroozers, who were already exchanging fire with the overmatched Thunderchild. The Astartes were firing with everything they had but their own shields were gone and their hull was being blasted relentlessly; it was only a matter of time until they were torn apart. Horroway saw that the fight would not last long so she ordered, "Signal Orreti to launch Torpedo-drones!"

In response the Arsenal ship disgorged waves of tiny drones, each one a fast-moving dart of blazing engines and barely constrained plasma bottles. They hurled themselves at the Kroozer with the leering skull, moving at shocking speed. The Kroozer let out a desultory burst of turret fire but the tiny drones dodged and weaved according to a complex pattern and only a handful were picked off. The rest bore down on the Kroozer and launched kamikaze strikes into the wide flank, igniting in searing balls of plasma. The Kroozer lurched as its side exploded, tearing apart its manoeuvring systems in an inferno of destruction. The Ork's Mekboys fought to stem the damage but the ship's steering was ruined, it could only travel in a straight line and it cruised past the Thunderchild, headed out into the blackness of space. The Scythians sloops went after it, nipping at its heels and tearing it apart one shot at a time.

Meanwhile the Gun-Brigs broke formation and flung themselves at the Kroozer with the large red fin. They came right up to its stern and lashed out with a barrage of Atomonic bombs, the shields flashed out of existence and the charges impacted the hull, blasting immense craters in its rear. The ferocious assault ripped deeply into the Kroozer's hide, wreaking immense damage. The Orks were enraged by these injuries and broke off their barrage, turning about to engage their attackers. Moving fast the Gun-Brigs flashed past the Kroozer and then pulled off a turn that would have sheered an Imperial cruiser in half, leading the Orks away in a dance that would take hours to resolve.

Horroway saw that left one Kroozer behind, the one covered in skeletons. It was bearing down on the Thunderchild relentlessly, trading blows with terrifying potency. Determinedly Horroway commanded, "Come to course, 140 by 050, three-quarters thrust, take us across their stern. Ready port-side guns for a broadside."

"Aye Captain," D'ras called back as the Bonaventure closed on the last Kroozer.

The Hololith was filled with the swelling vessel, every mismatched plate and burnt corpse becoming clearer by the second. Its mass was immense and the amount of firepower it was putting out was stunning. Horroway could only hope the Thunderchild could hold on long enough for them to intervene. She gripped her chair tightly and fought the urge to curse as the vectors slowly came into alignment, every second dragging out to eternity. Then at last the Bonaventure was aligned and she yelled, "Fire!"

A salvo of plasma blasts tore out from the cruiser's flank, slamming into the flaring shields of the Ork vessel. Blast after blast slammed home and the shields blew out, letting a few tardy bursts melt into their hull. Excitedly Krang reported, "Target shields down, permission to fire Meson-Beamers?"

"Negative," Horroway replied, "Let them taste the Ceti-Disruptor."

Once more the bulbous weapon on the Bonaventure's spine glowed incandescently, then it fired one continuous ray right into the Kroozer's exposed hide The energy washed over the Kroozer and arcing electricity surrounded the hull, burrowing into every plate, sensor vane and gunport. Systems were overloaded, targeting was scrambled and hundreds of Grots were burnt to ash as the disrupting energies crippled the gunz. The Kroozer fell silent, its weapons rendered useless for a few precious minutes and it sat impotently as its target slipped past.

The Bonaventure's bridge erupted with cheers at the Ork's distress but Horroway was already bellowing, "D'ras, signal the Space Marines to break off and close to board with the Hulk. Tell them to make haste and stop for nothing, we will hold the line here. Krang, recharge the guns and prepare for another barrage, let's kill some Orks!"


	20. Chapter 20

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 20**

The force of the impact was crushing, throwing him against the bars of his restraint cage so hard his reinforced bones creaked and his eyes felt like they were trying to escape his skull. Furion grimaced as the strain tore at his body, forceful enough to kill a mortal outright. Yet he was Astartes, enhanced and gene-forged for exactly these situations, he endured the immense pressure without comment and waited for the jarring to stop. After a few seconds the boarding torpedo fell still and he looked to the disembarkation light, yet he was surprised to see it remained steadily red. Suddenly he felt the vibrations of the caterpillar tracks engaging and the prow meltas discharging. Furion gritted his teeth as the Torpedo swayed around him, the lack of gravity meaning every motion was communicated instantly to all on-board.

From a few cages down he heard Cortha's voice questioning, "What's happening?

Furion fought the urge to snap at the inexperienced youth and answered, "Don't panic, the torpedo didn't hit cleanly, that's all. We must have scraped over the skin of the Hulk at a shallow angle. The torpedoes' servitor brain is digging us deeper into the structure, to find a better place to let us out."

Cortha nodded in understanding but across the width of the Torpedo from him Apothecary Memnos commented, "An inauspicious start, especially after what happened with the Rogue Trader."

Cortha exclaimed, "I can't believe it, why would our ally abandon us in battle?"

From down the length of the torpedo a Brother's voice cried, "Better get used to it; it happens to us a lot!"

Memnos chuckled, "He's not wrong, I'd wager that treacherous snake Zerban had something to do with it. Bad luck plagues us."

Furion glared down the length of the narrow shaft running through the torpedo, where three squads were locked into restraint cages and declared, "Waste not your time with petty recriminations, we have no use for luck or fickle fortune. We forge our own path in accordance with the Emperor's Will, focus your minds upon your duty and ready your souls for combat."

A sudden jarring shook the Torpedo hard and everybody held on as it chewed through some unseen obstruction, then continued digging. Furion's vox crackled and then he heard Toran's static-laden voice saying, "Chaplain Furion this is Captain Toran. All squads have disembarked save yours, where are you?"

Furion responded, "Deployment was held-up but we press on, estimate no more than a few minutes delay."

"Make haste," Toran replied, "Uno and Tria strike forces are already moving out, Dua is falling behind. We need all three objectives completed or the mission will fail."

"Understood," Furion responded, "We won't let you down."

"I know you won't," Toran proclaimed warmly, "The galaxy will stop spinning before you relent. I'll see you back on the Thunderchild, Toran out."

The vox snapped off and Furion resisted the temptation to hit the bars of his cage in frustration. As Chaplain he was a senior officer and so he led a strike force, consisting of three squads, two Tactical and an assault squad. His apprentice Cortha and Memnos were with him too, not a happy arrangement for Furion but he was above complaining. He was in command here and everybody was looking to him to lead by example, as they had since his elevation to the Chaplaincy. It was a great burden to bear, to be the embodiment of the fierce spirit of the Chapter, but it was his duty and he could not fail, not now not ever.

Furion's team was but one of three strike forces making their way into the Hulk, each headed for one of the identified weak points in the conglomeration's superstructure. The first team was led by Toran himself and his command squad, the other was led by a Veteran-Sergeant named Matheus and had Librarian Arvael with them. It was notable that the Librarian was not in command of this team, as an officer he had the right, but the Librarians were not in good standing in the Chapter. Their Psyker nature already set them apart, but it was their refusal to take a side in the Storm Herald's recent internal strife that meant the Brothers would baulk at taking orders from a Librarian. Arvael was smart enough to not protest the humiliation of taking orders from a Sergeant and focused only upon his duty. Perhaps in time these scars to the Chapter's spirit might fade but Furion doubted he would live to see such a day.

Furion was distracted by the voice of Cortha saying, "The void battle was harrowing, I thought for a moment we were done for. If it weren't for the Xeno's intervention we would never have made it."

Memnos sounded like he had bit into a lemon as he said, "I know, I too dislike being in debt to Xenos, to think we owe them…"

Furion was incensed by the very notion, Space Marines thinking that they were indebted to any alien was Heresy, such thoughts could not be tolerated and as Chaplain it was his duty to eradicate such concepts entirely. Angrily Furion declared, "We owe them nothing, they did not do it for us. They needed us alive to complete the boarding action, nothing more."

"But did they not act with honour?" Cortha asked.

"There is no honour among aliens," Furion proclaimed loudly for all to hear, "They defy the Emperor's will by existing, nothing can forgive that. Do not think of union or brotherhood with the Xeno, there can be no such bonds or debts of loyalty with the likes of them. Any Brother who repeats such a notion in my presence will spend a year and day wearing sackclothes and ashes as penance. Remember your teachings; He whom trusts the inhuman, places not only his own soul in jeopardy but risks the soul of all Mankind."

Mummers of acknowledgement rang out from the Initiates but they were drowned out as the torpedo screeched loudly and then ground to a halt. A moment passed then the lights flashed green and the cage lifted up as the front end of the Torpedo yawned open. Furion was already moving, the comforting weight of his Storm-bolter in his left hand and his Crozius Storm-heart in his right. He was the first to step out of the Torpedo, feeling a weak artificial gravity field take hold as he dropped to an uneven deck.

The Torpedo seemed to have penetrated an echoing bilge, a dark cavern in the mass of the Hulk. The space was illuminated by stab-lights from the disgorging Astartes but they exposed no enemies. Strange contours formed the walls, without a single right angle to be seen anywhere, and the space was littered with protrusions that looked half-melted. The air was cold and still, signs nobody had been here for centuries. That was hardly surprising, even the Orks could not have explored every inch of a hulk this big, there were scores of vessels mashed into one tangled fusion and the interior space must be vast and convoluted beyond understanding.

Memnos was looking about and said, "Doesn't look human in origin, but not Ork or Eldar either. I've never seen the like, who do you think built this?"

"Irrelevant, focus on the mission," Furion stated dismissively, "Secure this area and unload the seismic bomb. We have a long way to go and we are already behind the other teams."

Hastily the squads spread out and secured the hold while two Brothers dragged a massive charge out of the torpedo. It was a cylinder twice as long as an Astartes is tall, covered in purity seals and Mechanicus icons. It was awkwardly bulky yet light enough in the low gravity for two Storm Heralds to carry, but they would be unable to fight while doing so. Furion gripped his weapons tightly and watched the mission-timer in the display of his skull-helm, itching to be away. Finally all was ready and he declared, "Move out Marines, the eyes of the Emperor are upon us and he is most displeased by our sloth!"

Confidently Furion led the squads out, striding into the passageways of the hulk. He found himself in a long corridor, the walls looking melted with the way they flowed into each other. He beseeched his armour's Machine Spirit for the long-range scans and compared them to what he saw. The hulk was an insane mishmash of various ships and debris, all crammed together at strange angles. His display showed where they were and where they needed to plant the bomb but between them were only vague suggestions of corridors they may take. Furion knew from experience that such hulks were inherently unpredictable, the interior architecture would be a crazy maze of nonsense passages, but they would have to find a way through anyway.

With no other options Furion led the squads onward, everybody on a hair-trigger for threats. Bolters and chainswords were held tightly and every eye was scanning for the slightest hint of movement. The signs of the ship's makers were everywhere, indentations and handholds in the walls suggestive of low-gravity aids and exposed plates revealed arcane mechanisms buried in the walls. A glance told Furion that the ergonomics of the design were totally non-human, perhaps suited to creatures with six-limbs or more. It did not fit any known species Furion had been taught to fight, but the galaxy was vast and ancient. The ship's makers could well have gone extinct a million years before Mankind first left the atmosphere of Holy Terra.

As they walked further Furion began to see more recent signs of life, crude emblems hacked into walls, Ork dung piled up in corners and discarded tools left wherever they were dropped. Behind him he heard Memnos say, "Orks have definitely been here, chances of reaching the objective uncontested are dropping to nil."

Cortha lifted his own Crozius and growled, "Good, Dread-hand hungers for a fight."

"Silence," Furion hissed at them, "Focus and keep alert for foes."

Swiftly Furion led the squads through the half-melted passages, passing junctions and corridors that split off. He checked his map and saw none of them promised a quicker route to the objective so he pressed onwards, always headed towards their goal. A part of his mind wondered how the other teams were faring but he knew vox-contact would be impossible this deep in the hulk. He forced the speculation to the back of his mind and focussed upon the course they were taking, constantly scanning for foes as he did so.

Suddenly the corridor opened up before them to reveal a strange hollow, a long and narrow canyon in the body of the hulk, running well beyond the range of sight. It had been formed by two massive walls leaning against each other, the near wall was the half-melted curves of the ship they had already traversed but the other side looked reassuringly familiar, all the straight lines and pipes of typical human engineering.

Memnos peered about and said, "What is this?"

Furion examined the environment and said, "Looks like two ships were mashed into each other but didn't quite fit together, they left a gap."

Cortha muttered, "I don't like it, we will be exposed as we cross this space."

"Swiftly then," Furion stated knowing that time was against them and he set an example by stepping out into the gap. The floor was nothing but piles of tangled debris and rubbish but he was confident as he made his way over, placing his boots down with a sure tread. The squads followed in his wake, carrying the seismic bomb over the piled detritus as they made their way across. The far wall grew in Furion's sight and he spied an open and inviting hatch, one that seemed to be headed in the right direction. Furion opened his mouth to order the squads in but before he could speak Memnos cried, "Contact above!"

Furion's head snapped up and he saw a wave of Greenskin savages rappelling down the wall, scores of them falling like green rain. They came in great bounds, lines trailing out behind them as they descended from high above. Their mouths opened wide to reveal jagged fangs and they let out bestial roars of triumph as they pounced upon the intruders. Their bodies were covered in stick-bombs and in their hands were notched knives and blunt pistols that were already firing.

Bullets fell upon the Space Marines and Cortha gasped, "Ambush, but how did they know we were coming?!"

Furion lifted his Storm-bolter high as he snarled, "It doesn't matter, everybody return fire!"


	21. Chapter 21

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 21**

The Orks came bounding down the walls of the canyon in great leaps, each spring sending them flying as thick corded ropes played out behind them. Each one was a scarred veteran and in their beefy hands were knives made from shards of ship plates and vicious splinters of metal. They were covered in soot and had greasy stripes smeared over their faces, to disguise their forms amid the shadows of the roof. They were Kommandos and they launched their ambush with cries of feral glee upon their lips.

Furion saw them falling upon his strike force and knew they had caught the Space Marines at a moment of vulnerability. The Storm Heralds were exposed and lacking for cover, their rush to catch up with the other teams had drawn them into a trap. But thoughts of recrimination were as useless as asking how the Orks had laid such a trap, now there was only the fight at hand. Furion saw bullets falling but they came in at an oblique angle and the few that made contact pinged off thick pauldrons and shaped helms. In return precise snaps of bolter fire rose up, set to single shot and aimed with transhuman precision. Bolt-rounds hit Ork bodies mid-leap and penetrated their torsos, then detonated a second later, blasting Greenskins apart from the inside out. Entrails fell like rain upon the Astartes but they did not blink as the exchange of fire continued.

In the midst of the carnage Furion stood stock still, holding his weapon aloft but not firing. A Storm-bolter was an assault weapon, designed not for precision but to lay down overwhelming firepower in an astonishingly brief moment of time. So Furion held the line, standing proudly in his black armour and skull-helm, setting an indomitable example for his Brothers to draw inspiration from. On the Orks came, bounding closer and closer as they roared in feral glee but Furion knew only contempt for their filthy lives and he did not move a muscle.

Finally the Orks crossed an invisible line and Furion roared, "Brothers, rapid-fire!" as he squeezed the trigger of his weapon. With an ear-splitting roar the Storm-bolter ignited, both barrels erupting with tongues of fire. The recoil was incredible, the twin-barrels trying to send his aim flying wildly off target. Such weapons were not standard issue, being reserved for Terminators or the finest Champions. It spoke volumes to Furion's immense strength that he could wield such a weapon effectively. With gritted teeth Furion panned his aim back and forth, sending up torrents of bolts at an astonishing rate. The twin contrails caught a pair of Orks, one having its skull blown out and another losing everything below the waist, leaving it hanging in mid-air with its guts spilling out. Yet Furion did not relent, keeping his finger depressed as he swung the weapon back and forth, cutting Orks apart in droves. He didn't stop until the magazine ran dry, the box-clip echoing empty with a loud thunk.

All around the Chaplain the squads poured on fire, emptying bolters and pistols at the falling Orks. They had downed scores of the Kommados but more were dropping by the second, a waterfall of Greenskins, falling upon them. Furion spent a millisecond calculating how long it would take to reload his weapon but saw that time was too short, combat was instants away. Swiftly Furion mag-clamped his Storm-bolter to his hip and gripped his Crozius tightly as he cried, "Brace for melee!"

With a cry of triumph the first Ork landed in the piles of rubbish, his iron-shod boots sinking up to the knee in the loose scraps of metal. It didn't seem to slow the beast down in the slightest, for it charged right at the waiting Chaplain, throwing aside rubbish like it was wading in the shallows of the ocean. The animal threw itself at Furion with a huge cleaver in one hand and its jaws wide open to it roar its bestial fury. It was the savage heart of its race made manifest, their unthinking and violent urge to destroy brought to life, yet Furion was undaunted.

As the Ork came into reach Furion stepped forward and met it head to head. The huge cleaver swung down with bone-breaking force but it only scored a long groove down the front of the Chaplain's thick Mark III armour. In return Furion swung his Crozius down upon its back and there was a flare of power, Storm-Heart's relic generator releasing a blast of concussive power. Any other opponent would have been broken in two by such a blow but the Ork merely staggered, injured but not dead. It lurched drunkenly off to one-side, dragging its boots through the rubbish but then its beady eyes cleared and it raised its cleaver once more.

However Furion wasn't about to give it time to recover, in the moment of confusion he had drawn his Crozius back and now rammed it forward like a sword. The flaring eagle wings of the weapon caught the Ork right in the face and the energy field blew the creature's head apart, showering brains everywhere. The body of his foe swayed back and forth like some comedic dramaturge then it keeled over missing a head. Hastily Furion looked up and saw that the Orks were piling into combat, hacking with crude blades and hammering down with what looked like ship-tools. They fell into the fray with cries of joy and firing wildly with their pistols, uncaring if they killed friend or foe. Set against them was a proud line of blue Ceramite, Astartes warriors battling on with shining combat blades and roaring chainswords.

In the heart of the melee Furion saw Cortha wading into the foe, swinging Dread-hand wildly. The weapon's effects were strange, there was no flaring discharge of power but everyone it touched froze up in horror. The merest graze stunned Orks and left them gasping, a look Furion had never seen before on their animalistic faces. Furion knew the weapon contained the finger bones of a dead Sister-of-Silence, that nigh mythical order of Pariahs, but how it could have such an effect was beyond him. Whatever the cause it was potent indeed and Cortha waded into the melee slaying relentless as he shouted, "Feel the cold touch of the grave!"

Behind him came Apothecary Memnos, swinging a Chainsword that lopped off limbs and opened guts with ruthless precision. Despite his disgrace the Apothecary had lost none of his fighting skills and his Chains of Shame were soon covered in Ork blood, the names engraved upon them lost in the slick red fluid. Memnos was as deadly and fierce as any Initiate but then he spied a Brother falling, his hearts torn out by a filthy Greenskin with a hooked blade.

Instantly Memnos broke off, throwing himself at the Ork's back. He cut down the swine with a single blow and then fell to the deceased Storm Herald's side. Without needing an order two more Brothers slammed shoulder to shoulder behind him, fending off waves of Orks and sheltering the Apothecary as he set about saving the gene-seed of the dead. The Orks came at them in a wave of savage fury but the pair of warriors refused to take a single step backwards, determined to protect the genetic legacy of their dead and the Chapter's future.

The battle was as ferocious and vicious as any Furion had ever seen, the courage and resolve of the Storm Heralds set against the bestial rage of the Orks. But then he spied a mob of Greenskins pressing forward with demolition charges in hand and he realised that their animal savagery hid a cunning strategy. "Ware Brothers!" he yelled, "They seek to destroy the seismic bomb, protect the bomb!"

Furion matched deeds to words as he threw himself at the mob, smashing aside any Orks in his way. He carved a path of dead Greenskin before him, slaughtering all he encountered with relentless determination. He was just short of the mob when he found himself confronted by a massive Ork, with skin as black as tar and hands like shovels.

The Chaplain met the black Ork with a swing of his Crozius but he was stunned when the golden head glanced off its iron-hard skin. The Ork grinned and sent a punch into his gut that made his bones quake. Furion was shocked at the Ork's unearthly strength and the blow doubled him over, where his skull was met by a rising knee. His head snapped back and he tasted blood in his mouth but the Ork wasn't done yet. On and on the blows came, hammering his body and driving him backwards with every blow. A kick to one leg sent Furion sprawling to one knee and the Ork loomed over him, roaring as its weighty fists fell upon him in a flurry of titanic blows.

Furion grimaced as the blows rained down upon him, falling with the ferocity of an avalanche, but he was not bested yet. As the impacts thundered on his hands went to Storm-heart's haft and they twisted a ring set into the hilt, one that served a special function. Furion gathered himself and then flung his arm upwards, shouting, "Beware the light of the Emperor!" Storm-heart flashed up before the black Ork's eyes and then its energy field discharged in a blaze of light and noise. The relic's stutter-field shone incandescently, the effect as potent as a stun-grenade. The disorientating burst blinded the Ork and it threw up its hands to its face as its limited senses were overloaded.

Instantly Furion rose up, his battered body crying in protest as he slammed his shoulder into the Ork's guts. The Ork fell to the ground, thrashing wildly as its brain tried to recover from the effect but Furion was faster. His hands caught the Ork's arm around the elbow and his right boot slammed down onto its shoulder and then he heaved for all he was worth as he roared his fury. Alien physiology met Transhuman muscles and motive fibre-bundled armour and proved weak in comparison, as Furion tore the Ork's arm clean off.

He finished off the fallen Ork, with a kick that snapped its neck, before throwing himself at the mob carrying the demolition charges. Storm-heart in his right hand and the dead Ork's arm in the left he waded into the mob, clubbing them down with the iron-hard limb and sundering their hides with mighty blows of his Crozius. The Orks were aghast at seeing their leader slain by this terrifying warrior, who wielded their commander's arm like it was a club and as ever more of them fell to this merciless juggernaut their fickle courage broke. Furion saw them turn to run but he gave them no reprieve, he flung himself after them, smiting them ceaselessly. He clubbed down an Ork with the torn off limb as he shouted, "No mercy!" Then he smote a fleeing Greenskin with his Crozius as he shouted, "No respite!" Again he cut down a foe as he cried, "No fear!"

Many Orks fled from the relentless destroyer in their midst but there was one who had another idea. With a feral grin one of them twisted the timer on his demolition pack before throwing it at the rampaging Chaplain, landing the explosive at his feet. Furion barely had time to register it and had no time to avoid the blast, but at the last moment another force intervened. With a cry of alarm Memnos came out of nowhere and tackled Furion around the waist, carrying him away with his bulk. The pair of them fell backwards, moving away from the explosive an instant before the bomb went off. A massive eruption of violent force was born beside them and the full force of the blast washed over them. Furion saw a flare of golden light as his Rosarius struggled to hold the explosion at bay, it dissipated the killing power but could not deny the kinetic force of the blast.

Furion saw the battle fall away from him as and Memnos were flung high into the air, surrounded by the glow of his Rosarius. He spun over and over like a leaf and had a single glimpse of the floor collapsing below them, falling in on itself as the blast blew a yawning chasm into the bottom of the canyon. Piles of rubbish cascading into the yawning gap as Orks and Marines scrambled away from the pit opening at their feet.

Furion saw the pit growing ever wider and it seemed to fall away to infinity below him. Then he and Memnos tumbled downwards and were swallowed utterly by the hungry depths.


	22. Chapter 22

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 22**

An immense weight was pressing down upon him, a snarled tangle of debris and broken machinery. It crushed him into the ground, making his armour creak under the strain. It was dim under the sprawling mass, only the slightest glimmers of light penetrating, but it was enough to see that he was effectively pinned.

Furion's mind was sluggish but he remembered the fall into the dark pit and the mad roll down its slopes as rubbish and flying shrapnel had battered at his armour. He had careened helplessly into the hungry darkness, surrounded by an avalanche of wreckage that had swept him away in its embrace. The unexpected slide had turned into a sharp drop as the bottom of the pit had opened up, dumping him indecorously into a vast space where he had finally hit something hard. Lost and alone in the darkness.

Furion grimaced as he realised he wasting time in idle thought, questions of where he was could wait, first he had to get out of here. He tried his vox but got only static as an answer, it seemed he was on his own. Furion tried to move his arms but found that they were pinned, but he had some movement in his legs. He drew his feet backwards, levering his knees upwards to create a little room. There seemed to be a thick girder lying across his body and he was just able to get his hands under it.

Furion pushed upwards and the girder shifted a few inches, then he pushed harder and was able to get his elbows a millimetre off the ground. Slowly he lifted the debris off his body but then it hit some unseen obstruction, Furion pushed harder but it stubbornly refused to move, wedged tight in its position. Furion breathed in deeply from his armour's oxygen reserve and gathered himself, then he heaved upwards with all his might. The girder did not move but the tangled debris piled on it began to slide off, tumbling to one side. Furion felt a rush of elation and drew upon every reserve of strength he had left and threw the girder aside with a cry of "Gnnarrgh!"

Suddenly the whole weight shifted, falling off to one side to leave him sitting in a crater of his own making. Furion's limbs burned from the exertion but he refused to sit about and wait. He staggered to his feet to find himself in an echoing cave. It was lit by a handful of dim lumen orbs, which revealed piles of garbage, discarded foodstuffs, bits of half-eaten grots and squigs and stinking mounds of Ork dung. There was a large hole in the roof, where Furion had fallen in, but it was fifty metres above his head, too far to climb back out. Furion instantly recognised a starship's waste recycling chamber, now completely defunct and used only as a cesspit. Furion sighed wearily to himself and since there was nobody around else to hear him he said, "Great… I'm in a sewer, why is it always sewers?"

It was at that moment that Furion realised that he was not holding his weapons and he hurriedly spun about to look for them. He knelt in the garbage and began shifting it aside, looking for his weapons with frantic haste. As he searched he berated himself for letting them go, even when falling into the unknown a Space Marine should never let his weapons drop. In his mind he assigned himself six hours of self-flagellation, to pay penance for his egregious error. After a few minutes he found his Storm-bolter, which he spent some moments over, clearing its mechanisms of filth and intoning Litanies of appeasement to soothe its spirit.

Furion kept searching, finding a few Ork corpses littered about, crushed under the piles of garbage. He turned these over one by one and was most relieved to find Storm-heart lying in the dirt, undamaged and whole. Furion snatched up this relic and whispered a mantra of atonement for his poor custodianship, then he twisted the ring on the haft and the spread-winged eagle began to emit a soft glow.

The light lit up the chamber, revealing several doors in the walls. It also revealed a white-clad boot, sticking out of a pile of garbage. Furion hurried over and began to unearth the piles, revealing Memnos lying there, seemingly knocked out. Furion knew only a little of the mysteries of Space Marine biology but the Apothecary did not seem to be in a sus-an-membrane coma, he was merely comatose. Furion checked his own armour's drug cache and withdrew a stimulant, which he applied to a port on the Apothecary's plate.

Memnos' recovery was startling, in moments he was upright, chainsword in hand and alert for threats. His gene-forged body taking him from unconsciousness to combat-ready in mere moments. The Apothecary swung his head around looking for foes, but after a second saw they were alone. He lowered his chainsword and looked at the Chaplain saying, "Furion?"

Of all the people to be trapped with Furion could not have thought of anyone he liked less but he swallowed his distaste and said, "Memnos."

Space Marines were trained to waste no time on pedantic questions, their ability to process tactical data meaning Memnos grasped the situation instantly, he craned his neck back and looked up saying, "Well… we're not getting out that way and I can't raise anyone on the vox. We will have to find another route out of here and try to link up with the strike force."

Furion nodded and said, "Those doors over there head in the right direction, come on." Furion led the way to the doors, holding Storm-heart up to illuminate the chamber. Memnos followed in his wake and quietly said, "Handy, it's a veritable Mordian army-knife. Does it have a corkscrew?"

Furion ignored the jest; he had no use for the Apothecaries' attempt at humour. He strode through the garbage and made his way to the doors. As they approached he scanned the various apertures and compared them to his mental map of the Hulk. His Transhuman mind made it almost impossible to become lost or disorientated and he swiftly discounted all but one door as a possible exit. Unfortunately it was buried under a heap of broken spars and shattered devices whose functions he could not guess at.

Memnos looked upon the wreckage and said, "I… don't suppose your Crozius has a plasma-torch function?"

"No," Furion answered clipping the weapon to his hip, "We'll have to dig our way out."

Resignedly they set to the pile of wreckage, throwing away broken bits of metal and various detritus to clear their path. The work was slow and tedious but Furion laboured with gusto, eager to be out of here. Unfortunately Memnos' mind seemed to be wandering and he said, "Do you think the strike force won?"

Furion hefted a box of gears out the way and declares, "Nothing will stop them."

Memnos shifted a smashed Cogitator musing, "I suppose that leaves Cortha in command."

Furion merely grunted in assent as he dragged an empty cannon shell aside.

Memnos paused and eyed him then said, "You don't like Cortha much do you?"

Furion snorted, "He serves, what more is there?"

Memnos went still and ventured, "Odd, I thought you liked mentoring the youngsters. What has Cortha done to offend you?"

Furion snorted in disgust but Memnos pressed him, "Furion, talk to me."

Furion threw down a heap of rags and turned angrily to bark, "Do you think we are friends? Do you think I have forgotten your shame, that I forgive you for murdering children?!"

"Forget?!" Memnos yelled back as he held up his arm to reveal his Chains of Shame, "You think I wear these to forget what I have done. I cannot forget their faces, I will not. My shame is eternal and deserved; I will not shirk from what I have done!"

Furion was confused by the retort and said, "Then what are you saying?"

Memnos sighed, "I was told that I must dedicate myself to others, that I must serve until my hearts bleed. Thus I have sworn and so I must speak my concerns. Furion you worry me, you have changed and not for the better."

Furion was stunned by that and said, "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do," Memnos claimed, "You were always the stalwart one Furion, the beacon of morality and strength. But that wise face hid a deep anger, a rage that could shatter cities. You held it tightly under control but that day in the Apothecarion, when you nearly killed me, that day I saw the real Furion. Your strength is admirable but it has turned rotten, it makes you lash out at those who try to help you."

Furion sagged as he explained, "I bear a great burden, I am Chaplain now. The Brothers look to me to be the example of dedication and ferocity. All eyes are on me and I cannot look timid or weak. Sometimes I wonder how old Wrethan coped with the weight of expectation."

Memnos nodded and said, "You're trying to be Wrethan, to act like he did, but did it ever occur to you that we don't want him back, that we prefer you as you were?"

Furion frowned and returned to his labour saying, "You speak nonsense."

Memnos wouldn't relent though and exclaimed, "You know, I remember a certain young and cocky hothead. Even from his first day there were concerns about him, too free-thinking, too prone to innovation. Some days I suspected his hypno-indoctrination was flawed at some level, leaving him able to think in ways Astartes should not. I remember many in the Apothecarion saying Toran should never have made Scout rank, let alone Initiate."

Furion froze and whispered, "I never knew that."

Memnos sighed, "There were serious doubts about Toran and it was assumed that he would live out his days in the Reserves. Then he fell under the wing of a stalwart and wise teacher, someone who taught him to value our ideals and principles, someone who showed him when to innovate and when not to. History will never tell but without you Toran would never have become a Captain. You made him what he is today and the Furion I once knew would not hesitate to do the same for Cortha."

Furion chucked one last heap aside and revealed the door as he said, "I can't be so narrow in my focus anymore, I have many duties."

Memnos replied, "Yes and you have been bold and fierce in battle, a fine example for a warrior to follow. Yet I miss the old Furion, the one who cared for the least of our Brothers. The one who would make time for a young novice, struggling to find his way."

Furion stood before the door but did not pass, he stood there and confessed, "I'm not sure I know how to teach him. The Chaplaincy was rotten to the core, they cast me out from their ranks as unfit, only to fall to treason themselves. I have to rebuild the order, but how can I do that with the memory of their heresy hanging over me? That's why I wanted a veteran to take up the Crozius, someone who already knew what was expected of him. Not some young fool who would make the same mistakes all over again."

Memnos stepped up to Furion and put a hand on his pauldron saying, "You look at Cortha and see a new Samect, but he is not that heretic filth. Try opening your eyes and see Cortha for who he is, look for his potential and you may be surprised by what you see. He could be great, he could be magnificent, but only if someone shows him how."

Furion was still for a long moment then asked, "Where did you learn such wisdom?"

Memnos' eye lenses glinted as he answered, "I learned it from watching you."

Then he strode out the door into the depths of the Hulk, leaving Furion to ponder upon all that he had heard and wonder if it wasn't already too late to act upon it. He sighed then left the chamber, the future was waiting and he could only meet it as best he could.


	23. Chapter 23

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 23**

The passageway was low and cramped, lined with mangled pipes and broken bits of metal. Furion was forced to hunch as he advanced, carefully stepping over odd lumps and discarded tools. He held Storm-heart in his hand as he inched forward, grimacing everytime his pauldrons snagged on a protruding bit of metal. It was slow going but at least the passage was headed in the right direction, slowly rising as wended its way through the Hulk.

In his mind Furion was tracking their progress and comparing it to the projected location of the objective. Their chosen route had swiftly been blocked by impenetrable debris but they had found a service hatch that let them access the cramped servitor maintenance tunnels. Furion was satisfied that they were still on course, it seemed the fall would cost them nothing but time. Behind him came Memnos, following his footsteps pace for pace. The Apothecary had fallen silent, seemingly content to have had his say, yet his words gnawed at Furion.

With no distractions Furion was left to wonder if the Apothecary had been right. Had Furion strayed too far, had he been ignoring his ward and lashing out at his Brothers? Furion thought about Cortha, the young apprentice he was supposed to be mentoring. Furion was shocked to realise that he knew next to nothing of the lad, he had not bothered to inquire as to Cortha's history or deeds, he had not asked about the lad's aspirations or ambitions. He had ignored his apprentice, treated him dismissively and taught him nothing. Furion was left to conclude that he had been a poor mentor and had done the lad a great disservice.

Furion twisted to glance at Memnos, who was patiently following behind. The Apothecary was still pressing forward, determined as he to reach their Brothers and rejoin the mission. Furion had been surprised by the Apothecary's words and their insight. He still disliked Memnos; nothing could erase his disdain for the Apothecary's crimes. Yet it was shocking to learn that his scorn was as nothing compared to Memnos' contempt for himself. He did not hide from his shame but embraced it, without hesitation or self-deception. In a bizarre way it had liberated the Apothecary, nobody could say anything that was worse than Memnos' own self-recriminations, so he was free to speak his concerns without fear.

Fear, the very idea troubled Furion greatly, had his concerns over the ignoble deeds of the previous Chaplains tainted his thoughts? Once he had been cast out of Chaplaincy training by the masters, rejected for his refusal to worship the Emperor. Yet those same Chaplains had gone on to lead a dire rebellion, seeking to usurp the rule of the Storm Heralds, all in the name of spreading their own twisted version of the Imperial Creed. Had Furion been afraid of repeating their mistakes? Astartes were designed to know no fear, but there were many kinds of fear beyond the physical, bullets and bombs held no dread for him but failure… was he guilty of fearing failure? Furion didn't like the implications and resolved to meditate upon these matters more at a later date.

Furion sighed, what wouldn't he give to be back in battle right now, where he could push these issues aside. The intense focus and surging passions of combat would feel like a welcome reprieve at this moment. Anything to distract him from these swirling thoughts and accusations. Furion had never been a believer in the divinity of the Emperor but right then he silently prayed for guidance and direction. As if in answer to his prayers the passageway suddenly ended, spilling out into a large vertical shaft. Furion paused at the edge and peered downwards, seeing a bottomless drop below then he twisted to look upwards and saw the shaft rising high above.

Furion stepped back and said, "We've run into an ammunition hoist, a flue for shells to pass between magazines and the ship's guns."

Memnos stopped behind him asking, "Is there a lift?"

"Not a working one," Furion replied, "We will have to climb."

Memnos nodded and stated, "Let's get moving then."

Furion returned his gaze to the shaft and looked for a hand-hold; the surface was pitted and worn, with rough protrusions that he could hold onto. He was concerned that his weight would be too much but the gravity field was weak and they had no alternatives. Furion clipped Storm-heart to his hip and then leaned out, driving his gauntlet into the yielding metal. He pulled himself out onto the walls' surface and secured himself, finding more than enough grip for his hands and feet. Across from him Memnos did the same, his dirty white armour standing out against the drab walls.

Confidently Furion began to scale the wall, climbing up hand over hand. The ascent was simple but required intense concentration, one careless slip could doom him. Furion was glad of it, the focus let him drive his misgivings to the back of his mind and he could concentrate only on the now. Furion embraced the purity of the moment, letting the simple task wash over him as he climbed. The ascent took a considerable amount of time but it was smooth and unopposed. As their entry point faded into the distance below Furion's autosenses stuttered and began to fritz. The Chaplain took a moment to attune their audio setting with a mental impulse and then he made out the clear and welcome sound of bolter-fire.

Furion paused and tried his vox but only got static but he still said aloud, "Battle rages ahead."

Memnos replied, "I hear it too, the strike force is nearby."

"Hurry," Furion urged and matched deed to words, hastening his ascent. They climbed for a few more minutes and then came level with a corroded hatch, from which emanated the sounds of fighting. Memnos came up level with it and gripped the hatch firmly in one hand, he tugged but it refused to budge and he hissed, "Damnation, the frame is warped, we aren't getting in this way."

"Let me," Furion growled and wrapped one huge hand around the lintel.

He pulled back but grimaced as the hatch stayed firmly shut. The Chaplain didn't relent though, digging in his hands and feet to the wall, then leaning back and pulling harder. His Mark III armour growled as the motive fibre-bundles strained and his own muscles swelled. He pulled harder and harder, as relentless as an avalanche. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his teeth creaked from how he was gritting his jaw but the hatch moved a single degree and then ripped out of the wall, the whole frame torn out to fall into the shaft.

Furion let it drop and waited as Memnos wriggled into the resulting hole, then he followed. It was a tight fit and he had to push through one shoulder at a time to squeeze in but he made it and dropped to a mesh-deck on the other side. He swiftly rose to his feet and checked his Rosarius was still hanging around his neck then drew his Crozius and Storm-bolter. Memnos was slightly ahead, moving down a dark corridor and calling back, "The sound is coming from this way, follow me."

Furion hastened to catch up and as he did so he tested his vox, "Alert, this is Furion can anyone hear me?"

There was a moment's static and then the voice of Cortha came back, "Master? Is that you, we thought you were lost."

"We live," Furion replied a surge of unexpected relief filling him at the sound of his apprentice's voice, "We are moving to rejoin you."

"Praise the Emperor," Cortha proclaimed, "We could certainly use your aid."

Furion heard the tension in his voice and said, "Situation report."

Cortha answered, "We have reached the objective point but are hard pressed. The Orks come in great numbers, we struggle to protect the seismic bomb from their assault."

"Hold the line," Furion declared, "We are coming to aid you, we shall come up from behind and catch them in a crossfire."

"Hurry master," Cortha stated, "We are most sorely pressed, the Sergeants lose heart, they say we must fall back to a more defensible position."

Furion almost dismissed his concerns with a curt admonition not to be weak but caught his tongue. He remembered Memnos' words and slowly said, "You must steady their spirits Cortha, do not let them fall back. Remind them of their duty and their role in the mission, everything depends on keeping that bomb safe. Space Marines can hold against anything, but only if they think their struggle serves a higher purpose. Remind them of the noble principles they swore to uphold and they will not take a single step backwards."

"I understand," Cortha replied, "We will not fail."

"I know you won't," Furion stated then cut the link.

He hastily doubled his pace, running flat out towards the sounds of fighting with weapons in hand. Twists and turns came and went but the sounds led them onwards, drawing them ever closer. Suddenly they emerged into a large workshop, a hanger like space where manufactory machines had once produced parts and tools for the crew of the ship. Huge devices were scattered everywhere but between them raged a teeming mob of Orks.

There seemed to be hundreds of them and more were pouring out of a wide entrance hall at the far end of the workshop, all roaring at the top of their voices. Set against them was a small knot of blue-clad Astartes, surrounded on all sides and ferociously battling to hold their defensive ring together. The noise was incredible and the air was filled with the tang of bolt-propellant and the stink of spilt viscera.

Memnos and Furion had emerged behind the Orks and the Greenskins had yet to notice their arrival. The pair wasted not a moment to raise their weapons and open fire. A torrent of shells shot forth from the Storm-bolter, added to by the Apothecary's bolt-pistol and they slammed into the unsuspecting backs of the Orks. Crude webbing and random plates proved no match for mass-reactive rounds and the bolts blasted into the jostling crowd, blowing them apart in wet detonations. Furion held the trigger down as he swept the juddering weapon back and forth, spraying out rounds, until the magazine thunked empty. A dozen Orks fell in pieces to their salvo but the remainder were undaunted.

Moving as one vast swarm the remaining Orks spun about and hurled themselves at the unexpected enemy behind, screaming "Waaagh!" Furion saw them coming and had a moment to fix his storm-bolter to his side then the Orks hit them in a flurry of hacking blades. Their notched daggers tore at the Chaplain's armour, chipping and gouging his noble plate but it was Mark III, far heavier and reinforced for the most brutal combat. Furion took their blows and met them in kind, smashing the Orks down with great sweeps of his Crozius.

The golden eagle head rose and fell like a pile driver, smiting the Orks ceaselessly as he bellowed his fury. "Die filth!" Furion roared as he smashed in a fanged face, then he swept about and caved in a head before hammering his weapon into a gut, spilling entrails everywhere. He felt the pressure of the mob crashing into him but he refused to be moved, holding his ground against the current of the foe. Over and over his Crozius smote the Greenskins, culling them relentlessly even as they pressed forward.

By his side Memnos fought on, his chainsword swiftly coated in gore and his white armour smeared a disgusting shade of red. The Orks were growing in numbers but Furion knew they didn't have to kill them all, simply by being here the pair had drawn off a portion of the horde attacking their Brothers and so given them a chance to rally. If they could but hold for a minute more the whole battle may swing in the Space Marines' favour.

Furion was about to push forward but before he could do so a savage roar of bestial rage cut across the din of the battle. Furion's head snapped around and he spied a huge Ork coming through the weight of the crowd right towards him. It loomed over the rest of its kind, with bulging muscles that strained at the various items of clothing it wore. It had a three-cornered hat on its head with a faded red feather and one massive fang that was capped with steel. The Ork barrelled forward as it bellowed, "Oi! Gets out da way you'ze runts! Dat flashy git's mine!"

Furion recognised a challenge to duel when he saw one and raised his Crozius before him as he cried, "Face me fiend! For the Emperor, you die this day!" Then the challengers flew at each other and the duel began in earnest.


	24. Chapter 24

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 24**

In the cramped workshop Orks roared their fury, their animal instincts driving them to the very heights of frenzy. They hacked and clawed their way forward, oft cutting down their own kind in their desperate attempt to engage in combat. Set against them was a hard knot of blue Ceramite, fighting back for all they were worth. Any other force would have been bowled over instantly but these were Space Marines, they took everything the Orks could throw at them and gave it back tenfold. Savagery against discipline, frenzy against courage, the virtues of two races were put to the test and none could say which would prove victorious.

Amid the madness Furion wrestled with the giant Ork Kaptin, the pair of them heaving to and fro. The foul creature was immense, looming over the Chaplain and out massing him by a harrowing degree. Rarely had Furion been confronted by a foe stronger than he and never by such a degree. The Ork slammed its bulk into Furion and drove him backwards as it yelled, "I'm gonna take your 'ead and stick it on me Kaptin's chair! Nobody beats Razatoof!"

Sparks flew from Furion's boots as they screeched over the deck, driven before the Ork like a dozer blade before a tank. The Chaplain grappled with Razatoof but could not force it back an inch and he could find no leverage. The Ork seemed to be made from nothing but muscles and even with his immense strength Furion could not match it. He could do nothing but hold on as the Ork slammed his back into a looming chunk of broken machinery, making his bones rattle. Desperately Furion drew back his left fist, leaving him exposed for a heartbeat before slamming it right into the Ork's jaw.

All Furion's immense strength was behind the blow and the Kaptin's grip slackened slightly so he was able to free his right hand and bring Storm-heart right up to Razatoof's face. Furion roared, "Fear the light of the Emperor!" as he triggered the stutter-field, releasing a brilliant strobing light right into Razatoof's face. Agonisingly intense energies spilled out of the Crozius, accompanied by thunderous cracks of sound. The burst was painful to behold, forcing his armour's autosenses to blank out the scene lest he too was blinded.

Razatoof's face was inches away from the flaring energies, exposed to the burst at point-blank range and its head disappeared in a star of white light. Furion's autosenses returned to reveal Razatoof's face, burnt like he had stood too long in the sun, but to his absolute horror the Ork didn't look discomforted in the slightest. Furion couldn't believe it, he had seen this effect dazzle and disorient many foes, leaving them weakened and helpless but the Ork hadn't even blinked as the energy clawed at its crude senses. Razatoof chomped his jaw for a moment then said, "It tickles," then his fist flew out and caught Furion in the side.

The blows he had already taken felt like the lightest feather-touch compared to this and the force of it lifted him up, sending him hurtling over the heads of the packed Orks all around. The world spun around Furion as he flew away, smashing into a knot of Orks to knock them all down with his forced landing. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and in the scrum Storm-heart was yanked from his grip. Furion grimaced in frustration and mentally doubled his penance but there was no time to retrieve it.

Razatoof was already charging, his arms spread wide to sweep Furion up in a crushing bear hug. The Chaplain saw the immense muscles that covered its arms and the truth dawned that he could not match this beast for raw strength, so he had to change tactics. As the trunk-like arms swept in to grasp him Furion ducked, letting them pass over him. He swept about on one heel and spun past the Kaptin, letting speed be his advantage instead of raw strength.

Furion came up on the Ork's right flank and drove his fist into its side with all his might. It felt like hitting solid rock and he couldn't tell if it had any effect, but he wasn't about to stay to find out. Razatoof swept around again, trying to catch the Chaplain but Furion stepped back and saw the claw-like fingernails sweep past his helm. He suddenly reversed direction and lunged with a sharp uppercut that struck the Ork in the jaw, knocking its head upwards.

Furion was already moving again, whipping past the Ork to avoid its counter-blow. He could feel his plate creaking with the strain, Mark III armour was certainly not designed for speed or agility but it was his only advantage and he pressed himself to the limit. He dove in with a flurry of blows to the spine then dodged a roundhouse blow that would have torn off his head. In to jab at the guts then out to avoid a clawing sweep. In to hit low at the groin then out to evade a disembowelling stroke. Over and over Furion struck, punching the Ork with all his speed and ferocity, relying on its clumsiness to keep out of reach.

Furion was fighting to the limit of his ability and he had struck many mighty blows, but the terrible realisation was dawning that he didn't seem to be having any effect at all. Razatoof gathered himself then suddenly flung himself bodily at the Chaplain, grabbing him in a crushing embrace and lifting him off the floor. Razatoof's jaw dropped open like a snake's then he drove his skull forward, ramming his one great tooth right into Furion's shoulder under the pauldron.

The Chaplain hissed as he felt the fang penetrate his flesh, he tried to fight free but his arms were pinned and he could not fight back. He felt himself being hurled backwards and then slam into a heavy bloc of machinery with bone-breaking force. A sharp pain stabbed into his back as something rammed into the weaker armour plates on his rear and burst out the other side, leaving him impaled. The Chaplain felt his enhanced ribs breaking and a searing pain that stabbed into his left lung to leave him gasping for breath.

Razatoof stepped back with a grin and Furion realised that he had been left hanging in mid-air, stuck to the machinery. From his belly protruded a long rod of metal, a spar that had run right through him and violated his armour. He was suspended from this spar, as helpless as a butterfly pinned to cloth. Razatoof stepped back and contemptuously called, "Finish hem' off ladz."

Furion gasped as he saw a scrum of Orks piling in and was grossly offended by this insult. The Ork hadn't even the honour to kill him itself, it was going to violate the tenants of duelling and let its minions do the deed. The Orks closed in and Furion tensed his fists and boots, even hanging in mid-air he would make them suffer for his passing. Then from behind the Ork came a cry of defiance, followed by a crash of metal on flesh. Furion's head snapped up and his hearts soared as he spied the Storm Heralds rallying, led into the fray by Cortha. The Space Marines piled into the Orks, cutting them down with roaring chainswords and sharp blades. They too were offended by the dishonourable act of the Kaptin and they expressed their ire with piles of dead greenskins.

In the heart of the fray Cortha met Razatoof with a heavy blow from his Crozius. The second Dread-hand made contact Razatoof froze and a look of horror passed over his face but it only lasted an instant. With terrifying speed Razatoof's eyes cleared and his vast fist shot out to clasp Dread-hand, covering Cortha's wrist as well. "I'z don't like dat!" Razatoof roared and then slammed his other hand down in a chopping motion, tearing off Cortha's hand and leaving him with a dripping stump. The young Chaplain could only watch aghast as the Ork lobbed Dread-hand away, taking his severed fist with it and then Razatoof loomed over the stricken youth, preparing to finish him off.

From his perch Furion gasped, Cortha was about to die and it was his fault. He should have taught the lad better, he should have shown him how to fight. Furion couldn't let Cortha die, not like this, not before he had made things right. His rage stirred in his hearts and the world went red with his fury, without conscious thought his hands went around the spar sticking out of his belly and he heaved hard. Agony shot through him, tearing into his guts but Furion's rage was the greater and he screamed as he ripped the spar out of him, leaving a bleeding hole in his belly.

Furion dropped to the deck, Larraman cells already clotting over the wound but he paid it no mind. He was already in motion, running straight at Razatoof's back with the spar in hand. The Kaptin heard him coming and tried to turn but Furion was faster and leapt high, slamming into the greenskin's back. His fist moved like quicksilver and threw the spar under Razatoof's chin, grabbing it with his other hand to leave it lying straight over the Ork's throat like a garrotte.

"Gerroff!" Razatoof roared as he reared back in outrage at the weight on his back, his arms went high but he could not reach where Furion was clinging on between his shoulder blades. He thrashed and heaved to and fro in an attempt to shake the Chaplain off but Furion would not relent. The Chaplain rode the bucking greenskin, holding on for all he was worth as he bellowed, "You shall not touch him!"

The pair struggled back and forth, Razatoof slamming into machinery and lesser Orks in an attempt to scrape Furion off. The Chaplain rode it all, letting blows glance off his back as he pulled himself higher. He managed to get one boot on the flat of Razatoof's lumbar then the other and he heaved himself straight as he practically stood on the Kaptin's back.

Immense pressure was laid over Razatoof's throat, the weight of the Chaplain twisting the spar out of shape. Something had to give and it was the Ork's neck that went first. Furion felt a lurch as skin and sinews tore, then bones and cartilage and then suddenly he was falling to the ground. Furion landed on his rear and large messy lump fell into his lap, it was a good second before he realised it was Razatoof's severed head.

As Razatoof's body slammed down to the deck Furion rose to his feet and glared at the Orks all around. There was a moment's stillness and then the Orks turned and ran away, their warboss was dead and their courage broke at the sight. In seconds the workshop cleared and Furion was left with his Brothers, bloodied but victorious.

Furion looked at the spar still in his hand, now bent into a complete, 'U shape', then he looked about and spied Storm-heart and eagerly dropped the rod so he could snatch it up. His body burned hard but his kin were gathering around, cheering and praising his name. Furion did not bask in their applause but waved them down saying, "Brothers, heed me. We have won a terrible battle but not the war. Orks are never beaten for long so tend the perimeter and arm the bomb. We can celebrate when we are out of here."

The Storm Heralds returned to their duties, yet Memnos pushed through to say, "Let me look at that wound."

Furion suffered the Apothecary's ministrations but was looking at Cortha who was gathering himself up. His apprentice was examining the stump of his arm and had Dread-hand in the other. Furion tried to remember what he had said in previous situations and settled on, "You did well lad."

Even under a skull-helm Cortha seemed bemused by the unexpected praise and said, "I lost a hand."

"It's only a hand," Furion remarked as he warmed up to the role, "We'll get you a new augmetic one once we are back on the ship. You should be proud, such a scar is a sign of great deeds. The Emperor will look upon you with favour; you took up the mantle of leadership and fought with admirable zeal."

Cortha's voice sounded unsure as he said, "Thank you, master."

Furion brushed Memnos off and said, "Right, let's set the bomb and blow this hulk to pieces. Come on, we have to get back to the torpedo and collect our dead before it blows. Move Storm Heralds, the clock is running!"


	25. Chapter 25

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 25**

In the cold reaches of deep space points of light moved, an arrowhead of ships cruising into the infinite night. They were weary travellers moving across the empty void, exhausted by battle. At the head of the formation soared the Fortune's Fool, her drives pushing her ever onwards. Her hull had taken some minor damage but Deimurg repair bots were already hard at work, making good the tears and rips. Behind her trailed her escorts, sweeping back and forth to keep a watchful eye for any pursuing Orks. They needn't have bothered; the Orks seemed disinclined to give chase to the fleeing ships, preferring to vent their fury on the remaining fleet.

As the Fortune's Fool drifted into the silent night a meeting was taking place between her owner and his unwanted guest. Rogue Trader Saffor Teliday leaned back in his comfortable chair and swilled his Amasec in a crystal glass. Normally such an action would have soothed him but today it was nothing but a cover for the loathing he had for the guest in his quarters. Inquisitor Zerban was sat across from him, the bulky heft of his power armour absolutely ruining the leather of the furniture. He seemed to be rather pleased with himself, smoking a fine cigar all the way from the gardens of Villigrad. Saffor would have been happier if the Inquisitor choked on it but it seemed he wouldn't be getting anything he wanted today.

Zerban drew on his cigar and breathed out a smoke ring then said, "That went extremely well."

Saffor grunted, "For you, maybe."

Zerban lowered his cigar and eyed him saying, "Don't tell me I've offended your honour?"

Saffor sneered, "Honour is useless to the dead, but my family don't normally run from a fight before we get paid."

Zerban sneered at that, "Don't sully this with greed, you will obey me or I will spill your dirty secret."

Behind him, Saffor heard Kreg bristle at the mocking tone but he waved the Ogryn down and said, "Do that and you won't have my services next time, you can already count your allies on one hand. Your warmongering has made you many enemies."

"Warmongering?" Zerban snorted, "You say that like it's a bad thing. War is the crucible of growth and evolution, the forge where a stronger humanity is hammered into shape. The weak are culled and the strong become even stronger. Calamity, strife and discord make humanity great, war is our greatest endeavour and through it humanity can cast off stagnation and truly reveal its might."

Saffor shook his head and asked, "You really believe that?"

Zerban took on a distant gaze and said, "Think upon our history, defined by calamity and woe. The Age of Apostacy gave rise to the reforms of Sebastian Thor, the Macharian crusade saw a thousand worlds brought back under the rule of Terra and the Horus Heresy itself saw the God-Emperor ascend to the Golden Throne. Look at Istvaan III, the blood slain that day set in motion events that finally broke the tyranny of the Astartes, shattering their legions and leaving them toothless. War defines humanity but we became complacent and idle, the darkness sweeping the galaxy is a result of our own stagnation and weakness."

Saffor forced his glass to his lips to stop an angry retort then lowered it again and ventured, "You play a dangerous game."

Zerban countered by gesturing at the portrait of Saffor's parents saying, "The Telidays are no stranger to peril."

Saffor gritted his teeth and muttered, "Don't you talk about that."

Zerban chuckled in amusement, "I will talk about whatever I wish, I know how your line started but I confess I lack the fine details. Come, tell me the tale."

Saffor spat, "I thought you knew already."

"I know the broad strokes but not the context," Zerban confessed, "Tell me, how did a Navigator house find itself breeding a mongrel?"

Saffor knew he was stuck in a vice but he reluctantly explained, "The same way anyone else breeds, a thousand years ago a Patriarch got his favourite concubine pregnant."

"That's what I don't understand," Zerban mused, "I thought mutant-freaks like them couldn't breed with normal humans."

Saffor bristled at the choice of words but corrected him, "Oh they can, but to breed true they need another Navigator. If they mix with a mundane human their offspring lose the gift to steer through the Warp. The first Rogue Trader Teliday was born with the third eye but not the ability to use it."

Zerban frowned and said, "Navigators are mutants but also untouchable because of their usefulness but without that... how did the child survive the witch-hunters?"

Saffor snorted in amusement as he said, "Navigators are extremely rich and the Patriarch truly loved his son. He raised the boy in seclusion until he was old enough, then bought him a Warrant and a starship and sent him out to the stars. The only prospect of a real life he could offer the boy. Must have cost him a fortune in bribes, but such is love."

Zerban laughed, "Sentimental idiocy, that Patriarch would have been better off drowning the whelp at birth. So what happened next? The Teliday family spent a millennium out in the stars, breeding out the third eye and waiting until it was safe to return? A shame your ancestor didn't cover his tracks better."

Saffor knew it to be true, if this got out his life would be ruined. No matter that the Telidays had meticulously bred the third eye out of their genome. They were descendants of mutants and that was a fact the bigoted and intolerant Imperium would not stand. There were many who would see him executed on point of principle and countless old enemies who would delight in seeing his line end. Saffor didn't know how Zerban had found out the secret but he couldn't risk being exposed. Saffor leaned forward and growled, "Now see here…"

Yet he was cut off as something truly bizarre occurred. Suddenly the colour drained out of one corner of the room and the wall became hazy and indistinct. Shadows darkened as new lines etched themselves into reality, like an artist adding in details to a picture, layering extra complexity with every pen stroke. The room swam and elongated and then suddenly where there had once been a wall was now a bald man sitting at a desk, in an office filled with brik-a-brak.

Saffor was stunned by the apparition and dropped his Amasec to spill upon the rug but Kreg reacted faster. The Ogryn's skull lit up as his cyber-implants detected a threat and he charged at the intruder. Saffor was rose to his feet, pistols in hand but he was shocked when Kreg ran right through the vision and collided with the far wall. The image didn't so much as waver and Saffor realised this strange apparition but nothing but an illusion. Yet that was as nothing when Zerban calmly put out his cigar out and said, "Acham, you're late."

The bald man glared back and said, "Zerban, I was busy clearing up your mess."

Saffor blinked as he realised these two men knew each other and he hissed, "What's going on?"

Yet Zerban ignored him to say, "It was you who brought the Orks into this, they were an unnecessary complication, screwing up our arrangement."

This Acham looked angry as he barked, "Did you think I wouldn't find out? You abandoned the battle, you left my Diasporex crews to die!"

Zerban cocked his head and asked lightly, "Can't they handle themselves?"

Acham paused then a snide grin tugged at his lip as he said, "As a matter of fact they did, the Orks are beaten. I have reports that the Hulk is breaking up even now. I also hear news that the Space Marines survived your little treachery."

Anyone who wasn't as keen a card player as Saffor would have missed the flash of anger that passed over Zerban's eyes. Yet the Inquisitor covered it up expertly and remarked, "Shall we trade barbs or shall we discuss our trade?"

Acham glared angrily but growled, "My shipment is safe?"

"Quite safe," Zerban replied smoothly, "The cargo ships are right where we left them, your weapons are waiting for you."

"Weapons?" Saffor whispered to himself but he was ignored.

Acham breathed in deeply and said, "We went to a lot of trouble to arrange this, our resources for your collection of prohibited weapons. Why did you risk everything at the last minute?"

Zerban spread his arms and replied, "An opportunity presented itself and I took it. Now we are headed back to the rendezvous point to collect your shipment. All captured Xeno weapons as agreed, nothing that can be traced back to the Imperium."

Acham's eyes narrowed and he probed, "I have never understood why you agreed to this, why equip an enemy who might turn upon you?"

Zerban's face gave away nothing as he queried, "Do you want the weapons or not?"

Acham glared suspiciously but then declared, "The Bonaventure is on the way back with our fleet, they will collect our goods and then be on their way. I hope never to see you again."

Zerban nodded and said, "A pleasure doing business with you."

"Imperials," Acham spat in disgust then just as suddenly as he appeared his image vanished, leaving the room exactly as it was.

Saffor blinked at the spot where Acham had been sitting and breathed, "No… you can't mean to do this."

Zerban's head came slowly about and he said, "Don't be squeamish."

Saffor turned and cried, "You're arming the enemies of the Imperium!"

Zerban shook his head and said, "No, I am setting them up to be annihilated. Think about it, the Diasporex has always kept on the fringes, a threat lurking out there just waiting to strike. They were content to ignore us and be ignored in turn, but no longer. They were planning to invade our worlds, I heard of their scheme but I didn't know when or where they would attack so I expedited matters, provoking them into rash action."

Saffor was aghast and said, "You can't be serious!"

Zerban breathed in and explained, "The Diasporex has enough weapons to overrun a few worlds but no more than that. I was careful about what I gave them; they think they are well armed but not nearly enough to take the whole Imperium head-on. So they will strike too soon, little knowing that I will be amassing an army to counter them. Once they see the scale of the threat the Imperium will grant me vast armies to deal with them. The Diasporex will be crushed under my boot, a perennial threat to the Imperium will be eliminated once and for all and you and I shall be heroes. My position among the Inquisition will be restored at last."

Saffor hissed back, "What about the Orks and the Space Marines?"

In response Zerban scoffed, "A mere sideshow, destroying them would have been a nice bonus but they were never the real issue at hand. Acham is blundering into my trap and you and I shall see the end of his kind."

Saffor gasped, "You're mad, this plan is insane! You want to start a war just so you can sweep in and play the hero! I won't be party to this; my Warrant doesn't excuse direct treachery!"

Zerban's eye took on a hard light and he hissed, "Don't you think to cross me."

But Saffor's temper snapped and he cried angrily, "Kreg!"

At his word the Ogyrn suddenly sprung to life and jumped forward. His massive hand swept out towards the pair but it was not at Zerban that he lunged. The Ogryn's huge fist caught Saffor round the back of the collar and lifted him off the ground, leaving the Rogue Trader kicking and hitting his own bodyguard as he yelled in surprise, "Kreg! What the Frak are you doing?!"

Zerban grinned wickedly and pulled a small device from his belt remarking, "You shouldn't rely on cyber-implants to instil loyalty, they're so easily overridden. Kreg answers to me now... Isn't that right Kreg?"

"Yes Boss," rumbled the Ogryn blankly.

Saffor was left helpless as Kreg held him aloft and the Inquisitor said, "Now let us return to the business at hand, we have a trade to oversee, a war to start and an alliance of Xeno races to exterminate. We are going to be busy… oh, for pity sake put him down Kreg."

The Ogryn dumped Saffor in an undignified heap as Zerban continued, "Now where was I… oh yes. You and I are going to do great things together Saffor, such great things."


	26. Chapter 26

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 26**

The Apothecarion smelt of blood, even with the thick cloying scent of anti-sceptics and caustic cleansers the smell lingered. It was a faint presence in the air but it was always there, burrowing into the nostrils like a burr. With his enhanced senses it was clear and all-pervading, yet not discomforting or nauseating. To Furion it was a familiar scent, he was accustomed to it as the smell of the unguents and the lapping powders used to clean his armour.

Furion was stood in a long corridor, peering into a line of surgical suites. Here various Brothers were being operated upon, they were in various states of injury and being tended to by Chirugeons and medicaes. Mortals laboured over open torsos and spilled rich Transhuman blood upon the floor as they muttered arcane terminology and called loudly for more tools. Meanwhile servo-skulls drifted overhead, spraying sacred incense and repeating prayers in endlessly looped refrains.

Furion was not in the least concerned by this, the prognosis of these warriors was good. In fact such surgeries as he saw here were mostly to hasten the healing process. An Astartes' physiology was a miracle wrought in flesh, the product of the Emperor's great genius. Anything that didn't kill an Astartes outright could be overcome, usually within a few days. How else did a Chapter of a mere one thousand souls survive a lifetime of war.

Furion moved past the surgeries, his Skull-helm hanging by his belt next to Storm-heart. He had come to the Apothecarion with a specific purpose but he saw many Brothers here, and his duties were waiting for him. Furion had spent straight twelve hours flagellating his own back for his poor performance on the Hulk, losing his weapon twice was an egregious error and it was one that must be atoned for. His back was now a mass of scabs and scars, rubbing painfully under his armour but he mastered it. Such pain was a welcome reminder of his lapses and a compulsion to correct his mistakes.

He continued on until he found the recovery ward. Here were those Brothers whose injuries were not so severe, the walking wounded and those awaiting augmetic replacements. As he walked closer his sharp hearing could hear various voices, the deep tones of Transhuman's and the frail quivers of mortals. As usual the Astartes were trying to discharge themselves, confident their implants could heal anything. The mortals were trying to stop them leaving, citing the severity of their lost limbs and other wounds.

Furion smiled to himself, somethings never changed. Any Astartes worthy of the name would rather be charging over an assault course or honing his aim than lying on a med-slab. Furion set his face in a grim aspect then stepped inside, causing all to cease talking. The Chaplain surveyed the room and the Brothers lowered their eyes in respect. Furion nodded back then moved to the closest med-slab and picked up a chart saying, "Brother Bolivar… are you questioning the medicae's judgement?"

Brother Bolivar was missing a leg but still replied, "Chaplain, I am wasting away here. I don't need two legs to aim a bolter. Get me a crutch and I will be on the firing range post haste."

Furion eyed the fallen Brother and said, "You are under the authority of the Apothecarion and will remain here until they deem you fit to leave. Besides it would offend the dignity of the whole Chapter were the serfs to witness you hopping down the corridors."

Bolivar grinned as he acceded and Furion was pleased. He was starting to see that being a Chaplain didn't mean he had to be dour all the time. He had thought the Brothers would look upon warmth as a sign of weakness, but faces all around were smiling at his words. It seemed Furion didn't have to act like old Wrethan to perform his duties.

Furion moved from med-slab to med-slab, speaking to each Brother and comforting or admonishing them as required. At last he came to the final med-slab and here he found Cortha, sitting with his armour half-stripped away to reveal his amputated right arm. The limb was bare from the elbow down, revealing a stump about half-way along. The stump was covered with a metal ring that was festooned with neural interfaces and nerve-impulse conductors. Beside Cortha lay Dread-hand, reverently placed on a small shrine.

Furion had come here to speak with Cortha but he realised he hadn't thought about what to say when he got here. Furion searched for the words and ended up lamely asking, "How are you?"

Cortha tried to rise to his feet but was waved back down, then he answered, "Impatient, Memnos promised me a new hand but it's taking forever."

Furion leaned over to inspect the wound, but as he did so his gauntlet brushed Dread-hand for a moment. Cortha started and yelled, "No don't!" but Furion was already touching it. It was the strangest sensation, the coldness running up his arm to seize at this hearts. The colour drained from the world and sounds became muffled in his ears. There was a shard of ice in his mind, slowing his thoughts and freezing his spirit. Glory, honour, triumph, Brotherhood, these things seemed impossible to remember, even the concepts of them were being stripped from him.

The touch lasted only the briefest of moments but Furion snatched his hand away starting, "What was that?!"

Cortha nodded at his weapon and said, "Dread-hand takes its toll."

Furion felt the ice seeping from him and rubbed his gauntlet as if to warm it while he stared at Cortha. He couldn't imagine bearing such a relic for more than a moment, yet his apprentice carried the Crozius as if it was nothing. Furion found it staggering to imagine the kind of willpower it must take to bear such a device and he realised that he had underestimated Cortha badly.

Thankfully at that moment Memnos bustled up, bring a trolley with him which bore an item covered in cloth. The Apothecary looked extremely pleased with himself and was quick to say, "I have your new arm, a most precious artefact from the reliquary."

He whisked the cloth away so Cortha and Furion could examine the augmetic. After a moment Cortha hesitantly said, "There must be some mistake, that's… that's a claw."

Furion couldn't argue with his bewilderment, the hand resembled a gauntlet with wickedly serrated digits for fingertips. They looked razor sharp and were hooked like some feline predator. The limb had been coloured black to match Cortha's armour but on the back of the hand was a large red jewel, the light within dancing like it was on fire. The bearer of such a limb could hold a Crozius in his grip or slash a man's face off with his claws, but would never be able to hold a quill or a fine tool.

Furion saw Cortha's dismay but he spoke up, "I like it and it suits you. Such a relic is a sign of favour in the Chapter. All shall know you are a warrior to be feared from now on."

Cortha looked a bit less apprehensive but questioned, "Will it take long to fit?"

Memnos replied, "All the hard work is done, I had to trim back the bone and muscle to fit the neural-connector plate and bind it to your nerves. All I have to do now is attach the limb thusly… then turn it so… and there it is."

With deft movement the Apothecary fitted the limb and twisted it with a loud click then stepped back. Cortha flexed his new claw and examined it in minute detail then nodded and said, "It looks… fearsome. I am honoured."

Furion stated, "Just stay out of Novak's way or he'll try to give you some impertinent nickname. Now get your armour on and walk with me."

Serfs hurried up and hastily fitted Cortha's plates and then Furion led them out of the Apothecary. Cortha paused to retrieve Dread-hand, barely flinching at its cold touch then they walked into the depths of the Thunderchild as Cortha asked, "What happened after we left?"

Furion replied, "The Hulk broke up, shattering into a billion pieces. The survivors of the Ork fleet fell into infighting, they always do when there is a leadership struggle. We took it as a sign that it was time to leave."

"And the Diasporex?" Cortha inquired.

"Fled the second the battle was done," Furion answered, "Wise of them, they knew our alliance would end once the mutual threat was gone. Mark my words, we haven't seen the last of them, there will be a reckoning."

"And Vevara?" asked Cortha.

Furion smiled slightly and said, "Quite incandescent but her ire seemed to pass once I assigned Brother Jediah to watch over her. She decided it was best to stay in her quarters after I loudly ordered Jediah not to eat her brains."

Cortha nodded and said, "So… where are we going?"

"To attend to our duties," Furion answered, "But as we walk I wish to learn more of you, tell me of yourself."

Cortha blinked in surprise and then uttered, "I was born on Lujan II like most Storm Heralds and I saw my family die during the invasion of the Traitor Vorshaan, just one more notch on that scum's belt. I swore I would find a way to avenge them and I trained every day to be strong enough to join the Chapter. When the trials came I was deemed worthy enough for recruitment and so became an aspirant."

Furion nodded and asked, "You didn't fight in the civil war?"

"I saw some fighting in the Scout-Barracks," Cortha corrected, "Alas I was captured when Tenth-Captain Judio was slain. The heretics captured many Scout-Novices, thinking to convert us to their cause. Some among us wavered but I refused to let them bend the knee. I spoke of our duty and the bloody vengeance we owed the Heretics and so we remained imprisoned."

Furion thought upon it and then asked, "So what is it that drives you? What is your ambition?"

Cortha thought about it then slowly said, "Ambition… I barely know the meaning of the word. I have no interest in glory or laurels; I seek only to avenge my family by slaying as many Traitors as I can. Strange, I cannot remember their faces; memories before ascension are such weak things. Yet I will never forget the gaping hole left in my soul when they were taken, it can never be filled. I was satisfied to know I would be apprenticed under you though, I understand you were there when the Chapter triumphed and Vorshaan was slain."

Furion shook his head saying, "It was desperate and bloody and defeat seemed certain at every turn, yet we endured. Vorshaan himself crawled off to die in some hole, betrayed by his own followers."

"Good," Cortha spat, "I trust it was slow and painful."

A thought struck Furion and he wondered, "Is that why you can wield Dread-hand? The need for vengeance, no relic can steal that from you."

Cortha cocked his head and said, "I hadn't given it much thought, it just seems to affect me less than most."

Furion paused then and said what he had been dancing around, "I have been unduly harsh upon you Cortha. I am ashamed to say I that I let the memories of the past overshadow the present. I thought we would repeat the mistakes of our predecessors but now I see Phalros chose wisely; you are the fresh start this Chapter so desperately needs. I would be a better teacher to you than I have been, if you will have me."

Cortha looked bemused and replied, "Of course, you don't have to ask."

Furion was glad to hear the youth held no grudges and said, "Come then, we must attend upon VIth squad, they are mourning the loss of a Brother and the Rites of Mourning must be observed."

Cortha looked concerned as he admitted, "I confess I would rather face the Orks again, I never know what to say at such moments."

Furion explained, "You don't have to know the right words, just how to listen. The ritual phrases are less important than listening to our Brother's grief and reminding them they are not alone in their sorrow. Come with me and I will show you how."

With that they resumed their journey, discussing the nature of their duty. Yet little did they realise that the battle was far from over, for even as their ship sailed away unfriendly eyes were seeking them and their wake was being tracked by a most unexpected hunter.


	27. Chapter 27

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 27**

The hulk was tearing itself to pieces, its mass twisting and distorting in a million different ways. Vast chunks of it broke off and showered bits of rock and metal into the vacuum while individual ships in that great mass fired their engines randomly, pushing the whole disintegrating heap into mad spins. Explosions and tremors raced through its bulk, making it look like it was shivering in pain. More and more explosions arose and bits of it were ripped out or crushed as it convulsed and then the whole thing disintegrated into a billion fragments.

Horroway paused the Hololithic recreation floating in her ready room and declared, "So as you can see, the mission was a complete success."

She turned around to see the glowing forms of her fellow Diasporex Captains behind her, each one of them depicted in Hololithic light. They had all convened for the after-action debrief and none of them looked particularly happy.

S'sner was the first to speak, uttering, "Hardly a zuccezz, we came within a dewclaw of dizazter."

Horroway couldn't help but acceded, "The Rogue Trader fleeing was unexpected but we overcame the challenge and won."

Deesh growled accusingly, "You had us risk our lives to save hewmans."

Yet Horroway countered, "We needed the Space Marines to make the boarding run. Besides, it worked didn't it?"

Deesh spat, "We didn't need them, the Borlac could have done it."

"How many of your crew would have died in that deathtrap?" Horroway retorted, "This way they didn't have to."

Deesh rumbled angrily, "Hewmans always side with hewmans."

Thankfully at that point Znuch interjected, "What about the Orks, do they chase-chase us?"

Horroway was thankful for the change in topic and replied, "No, the surviving vessels fell upon one another as soon as their warboss was dead. We detected them fighting before we slipped out of range."

S'sner flicked her ta*-il and asked, "What of the Zpace Marinez?"

Horroway responded, "We detected their ship departing, we assume most of them got out. I sent a recon-probe to trail them but otherwise they are not a concern now."

At that point Znuch eagerly chittered, "What of the prize shipment?"

Horroway was glad to be able to talk of more positive things and said, "The Bonaventure reached the rendezvous and the trade went smoothly, our cargo ships had already exchanged their container pods with the Imperial's. The Rogue Trader had fled straight back to them, he didn't even bother to face us, we merely passed vox greetings and went our separate ways."

The other Captains seemed pleased by that and Znuch twittered, "Great shall be our reward!"

Deesh concurred, "The mission seems to have been completed and we have our goods."

Even S'sner conceded, "My matriarchs will look upon this with favour."

"Excellent," Horroway stated, "Then if there are no further issues let us tend to our ships, we shall speak again when we return to the Mayflower. Keep a watchful eye though, this stellar system is still riddled with Orks, we killed barely a fraction of them."

The Hololiths blinked out and Horroway stepped back rubbing her eyes. Talking with her fellow captains was wearying sometimes but it had to be done, Diasporex politics was a fluid thing and loyalties were prone to shift. Wearily she contemplated throwing herself onto the couch and grabbing a nap but knew there was work yet to be done. Reluctantly she ordered a recaff from her dispenser and then settled back to her desk. She took a minute to gulp down the beverage and then sighed before pressing her comm-unit saying, "Mr D'ras, Mr Robar, come to my ready room."

After a minute the door chimed and she pressed a button to reveal the pair standing there. She waved them to sit down and said, "How is the ship?"

Robar spoke first, "Repairs proceed apace, the primary systems were undamaged and the other systems are well within our ability to restore. But I'd still like to put into drydock when we return to the Mayflower, there are some parts of our hull armour that can't be replaced in transit."

Horroway agreed, "I will make it a priority, the Bonaventure has been through a lot. Now tell me about the crew."

Confidently D'ras reported, "Casualties in the lower decks were considerable. The crew feel their losses but they knew the risks, they won't falter if called upon."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Horroway stated, "We are merely headed back to the Mayflower with our cargo ships, hopefully the Orks will never find us. But it doesn't hurt to be prudent, keep the crew alert and on their toes until we get home."

D'ras frowned as he said, "Many of our crew don't have toes."

"It's a figure of speech," Horroway sighed, "I think the crew has more than earned a furlong, I will request shore-leave for all hands when we reach the Mayflower. I want the crew well-rested before the Senate decide to risk Warp-travel once more."

Robar stepped in to say, "Captain there is another matter, we collected many of the exhausted drones as we withdrew and haven't had time to return them to the Orreti. Our shuttle bays are overloaded with Decoy-drones and the deck chiefs are complaining."

Horroway inquired, "Could we ferry them back?"

"We will have to slow down the convoy and the shuttles will be exposed the whole time," D'ras stated, "Seems a big risk for little gain."

Robar's eye took on an avaricious glint as he said, "Perhaps if I opened one up I might be able to recharge them. We could just fly them back over that way."

Horroway knew what he really wanted and said in mock accusation, "You just want to have a peek inside and see what makes them tick, don't you?"

Robar looked amused as he confessed, "Well maybe, I never could resist tinkering with new tech."

"Go ahead then," Horroway chortled, "Just don't break anything."

Robar smiled yet D'ras seemed distracted and asked, "What was it like, meeting Imperials face to face?"

Horroway thought about it and answered, "Strange, they are so like us in many ways but so unlike us in others. They think in such narrow confines, how they can live like that is beyond me."

Robar sighed, "They don't know any different, they are indoctrinated from birth that they are righteous in their beliefs and all other ways of thinking are Heresy. They are so afraid of Chaos that they cannot tolerate any deviation from orthodoxy. If only they could see what I've seen, the galaxy is filled with wonder, there's so much more out there than the Imperium and the Warp."

"Perhaps," D'ras whispered sadly, "Still it must have been nice to be among one's own kind."

Horroway caught the pain in his tone, the longing for home, but responded, "The Diasporex is my home and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Those Imperials are like another species altogether. If I never see another Space Marine I wouldn't be sad."

D'ras looked like he was about to speak but suddenly there was an unexpected burst of light and Horroway started in surprise as Numeta appeared from nowhere. The Captain was not at all pleased by her sudden appearance and snapped, "Numeta, what have I told you about appearing without announcing yourself?"

Numeta didn't look at all admonished but exclaimed, "Captain, there is a serious problem, it is most urgent!"

Horroway smoothed down the creases on her uniform then replied calmly, "Very well, what is the trouble?"

Numeta hastily uttered, "I have been getting feedback on the Hyperlight comms."

Horroway couldn't believe that the digital being would waste her time on such trivia, but she didn't brush off the concern. She was the Captain and everything that occurred on a ship was the Captain's business. She drew in a breath to steady her voice and then asked, "Are our communications being blocked or are they merely broken?"

Numeta shook her head and said, "No quite the opposite, the system is working perfectly. The problem is its picking up quantum fluctuations in nearby space."

Horroway was no technical expert and she wasn't too proud to ask, "And why is this a problem?"

Numeta scowled in annoyance, her facial emulation protocols getting it right for once and said, "Because it is exactly the same warp-space frequency our own hyperlight comms operate on."

Robar rubbed his chin thoughtfully saying, "That is perplexing and most worrying."

Horroway raised an eyebrow and looked at him saying, "Can anybody explain this to me, in terms I can understand?"

Robar looked up and said, "Its hard to explain, I barely understand the physics myself, nobody really does. Think of the quantum-pulse beacons like a vox-set, well not exactly, but it's a good enough analogy, while being wrong in every single respect. Anyway, they operate on pre-set frequencies and ours are set to match the Mayflower's own master system. So to create this sort of feedback someone must be using the system right now and in very close proximity, like within the fleet itself."

Understanding dawned and Horroway gasped, "Someone on the Mayflower is talking to the fleet without involving us? Bypassing the senior commander is a serious breach of protocol!"

D'ras didn't sound concerned as he asked, "Couldn't it just be inter-ship chatter?"

Numeta answered, "No, the shipboard systems are limited to text only, we don't have the processing speed to run the full system. This is a fully actuated real-time transmission, even I couldn't handle that kind of processing demand. Only the Mayflower has the cogitator power to do this."

Horroway didn't like the implications of this and questioned, "When did this start?"

"Hold please," Numeta replied then froze for a second before springing back to life saying, "That's odd, the feedback began before we met with the Rogue Trader. It didn't trigger an alert because it was so faint… the only possible conclusion is that the system must have been projecting into the Fortune's Fool herself."

"What?!" D'ras spluttered, "Someone was talking to Teliday before we got there, who would do that?"

Horroway felt a growing suspicion in the back of her mind, she knew only one person who would be so extravagant but she changed the topic saying, "Numeta, scan the fleet and tell me who is talking to the Mayflower right now."

Numeta affected disappointment and said, "I'm sorry Captain but sensors can't localise quantum fluctuations, only the comm array itself can pick this up, so it's impossible to tell… Wait, that's not right… What the glitch… what is that supposed to be?"

Horroway leaned forward and said, "You've found them?"

Numeta blinked and answered, "No, I just said it's impossible, but I've found something even more peculiar. The cargo pods, they're shielded from external scans. My sensors should be able to penetrate their hulls but something is blocking me, it's like they are black holes in space. I can't even hack the automated systems; the cogitators are refusing my handshake with Senate level lock-out codes."

Horroway really didn't like the growing implications and mused, "Why would the Senate want to keep you out of the cargo ship's systems? What's so important about ship parts and trade goods that they have to hide them so?"

D'ras sounded confused as he said, "The pods are vacuum sealed and the ships fully automated. We just exchanged the pods in space without touching them, so only the Imperials could have installed such countermeasures."

"The Imperials aren't advanced enough to block me," Numeta declared smugly, "They don't have that kind of tech."

"The Inquisition does," Robar hissed, "They have access to lots of things they shouldn't have."

"That Inquisitor Zerban," Horroway spat as her suspicions coalesced, "He's up to something and I don't like this at all. Why are they blocking our scans? Who is he talking to in the Diasporex? I have a hundred questions and no answers at all."

D'ras asked, "You suspect he's trying to sabotage us, to slip something dangerous onto the Mayflower?"

"I don't know," Horroway said, "But I intend to find out."

D'ras asked, "Should we contact the other ships?"

Horroway shook her head, "No, there's no way to tell what they are up to. I need to know what's occurring here before we start making wild accusations."

Numeta looked irritated, or at least a close approximation of it, as she said, "I can't help you, I'm completely blocked out."

"Actually I was thinking of a more physical solution," Horroway replied then touched her comm unit, "Mr Krang, ready a shuttle, I need you to come and take a look at something with me."


	28. Chapter 28

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 28**

The flare of light made her faceplate darken. It was achingly bright, a focused melta beam that bored through the hull as effortlessly as it would cloth. The light moved slightly, describing a wide circle as it opened up an entrance where before there was none.

Captain Horroway hung back in the shuttle's passenger compartment, waiting for the way to be opened. She was currently wearing a sealed suit of vacuum armour, one typically assigned to one of the Bonaventure's armsmen. Horroway found the gear to be thoroughly uncomfortable and awkward. The suit was designed for counter-boarding operations and it was layered in plasteel plates over the chest and shoulders, with rigid greaves that rose up to her knees. Worst of all was the helmet, which was riveted to the breastplate. The plasteel dome encompassed her head and she could only see out of a thick armourglass strip before her eyes. The whole setup was cumbersome and awkward but it had be put up with.

Before her Krang was sealed into his own vacuum armour, a more elaborate affair designed to accommodate his bulkier form and hunch-backed posture, not to mention his long snout. He was currently standing at the shuttle's aft hatch, working a Melta-cutter across the hull of one of the cargo ships. The pair of them had crossed the distance from the Bonaventure in a small shuttle, fixing themselves to its exterior hull and were now cutting their way inside, rather than use an airlock which would surely be noticed. They had been forced to evacuate the shuttle's atmosphere before attempting this; else the gas exchange would have ripped the craft from the hull.

As she watched Krang cutting his way inside Horroway tested her vox, "Numeta, any sign we were spotted?"

From afar the Binaric being replied, "None, it was simplicity itself to cover your signature. The rest of the fleet should have no idea you are there."

"Good," Horroway commented, "Until we know what's going on here I don't want anybody to know we suspect a thing. Something is very wrong and I intend to find out what it is and who's involved."

Numeta sounded doubtful as she said, "Captain, I can mask our vox link and the shuttle can relay your signal past the jamming but I can't intervene. The cargo ship's systems are outside my control, if you run into trouble …"

"I can handle myself," Horroway replied, "Just keep scrambling our signals so nobody catches on."

There was a muffled sound of static and then D'ras came on the vox saying, "Captain, once again I must protest in the strongest possible terms. You should not be going in there."

Horroway answered, "I appreciate the thought but this is not up for debate, I'm going."

D'ras sounded less sure as he said, "It is my place to put myself in danger so you don't have to, you are more important to the Greater Good than I."

"Captain's prerogative," Horroway stated firmly, "I'm doing this."

Suddenly the bright flare of light died out and Krang stepped back pulling a large circle of hull plating away, which was at least a foot thick. Beyond the new hole there was only darkness and Horroway could make nothing out. She stepped closer, her mag-boots clicking in the confines of her helmet as she walked forward. Yet before she could peer within Krang held out an arm swathed in thick fabrics and said, "I'm going first."

Horroway sighed but let her tactical officer pull himself inside, he had been against her coming and had made it clear that in case of trouble she was to do exactly as he said. Krang disappeared into the hole then a bright light shone out from within and he called, "Clear!"

Horroway paused to draw her plasma pistol and switch on the stablight attached to her helmet then disengaged her boots and pulled herself into the hole. It was surprisingly difficult to move in zero-gravity, especially with the fixed helmet but she persisted and was soon standing inside the cargo-ship itself.

She was surprised to find there was no gravity inside but she supposed it made sense. The cargo ship was nothing more than a servitor-crewed tug, hauling cargo pods back and forth. They weren't even Warp-capable so there really was no point fitting it with more than the most rudimentary life-support.

Krang was already making his way aft, headed towards the cargo section with a plasma-fusil in his claws. Horroway paused to activate a pict-lens on her chest and called, "Can you see?"

Numeta's voice came back, "The shuttle is working as a relay, and I've encrypted our signal, nobody will detect us that way."

Hurriedly Horroway followed Krang as they made their way through the cargo ship. There was something eerie about walking the deserted passages, as if monsters lurked in every shadow. Horroway found herself gripping her plasma pistol tighter and staring into every corner where a foe could lurk. She felt a strange itch between her shoulder blades, as if there was someone standing right behind her and a worrying urge to turn about and look back the way they had come gnawed at her thoughts. Horroway dearly wished she could turn her head to look back but all she could do was follow Krang as he led her ever deeper into the ship. The Tarellian was cautious in his approach, wary for traps and sentry turrets but Horroway was more concerned about triggering a sensor alarm or running into a stray servitor. Yet it seemed both of their worries were unfounded.

Soon they reached the cargo section and Krang paused to access a hatch, manually opening the way into one of the Cargo pods. Horroway peered into the darkness beyond and saw a ladder, one Krang was already pulling himself down. In the weightlessness it was actually easier to go head first so the Captain followed in his wake, only able to see the rungs before her as she descended into the pod. She was brought up short when her helmet hit a wire mesh that acted as a floor and she hastily righted herself and locked her boots down. She turned about to inspect the area but nearly let out a shriek of surprise as she found herself confronted by looming giant, one that was much larger than a Space Marine.

Horroway backed away in fear and brought her plasma pistol up to point straight at it but her finger paused on the trigger as she realised the giant had not reacted to her presence. She breathed deeply for a moment then saw she had encountered some form of armoured suit, held upright in a cargo berth. Krang's voice rang in her ears saying, "Don't worry, its empty."

"A little warning next time," Horroway snapped as she stepped nearer and examined the suit. It was a strange sight, blocky and hard-edged with mechanical limbs and what looked like a square sensor dome set on top of an angular torso. The shape tickled Horroway's mind, reminding her of something she couldn't quite remember. The Captain stepped closer and exhaled, "What is this?"

Suddenly D'ras voice came over her vox saying, "Can you pan up higher?"

Horroway twisted her pict-lens up, illuminating the giant and D'ras cried, "I knew it, that's a XV8 crisis battlesuit!"

The words set Horroway's mind racing and she made the connection, this was definitely Tau tech and she kicked herself for not seeing it immediately. "How did I not catch that?" she wondered rhetorically.

D'ras answered her anyway, "It's an old model, long since outdated. That variant was phased out over a century ago, by the stars how did it get here?"

Robar's voice cut in saying, "It looks to be in a pretty bad state of repair."

Horroway saw what he meant; the suit was battered and chipped, with plasteel plates riveted over the composite armour to cover up gaping holes. To her eye it looked like someone had tried to repair the suit without any grasp of the underlying technology, bodging plates together to patch up the armour. The work looked typically imperial to her, the ritualised idiocy of mindless dogma.

"Spoils of war," Horroway muttered as the truth dawned on her.

"What was that?" Robar asked.

"Its captured war stock," Horroway explained, "The Imperials must have taken it off some battlefield then tried to take it apart and put it back together again to learn its secrets."

"Hereteks," Robar snapped, "No decent Tech-priest would sully themselves so!"

"You do," Numeta pointed out but she was ignored.

Suddenly D'ras cried, "The Damocles Gulf Crusade! The Imperium's first invasion of Tau space, they seized much of our technology before they withdrew. That explains why it looks so outdated, this suit must be at least two hundred cycles old."

"What's it doing here all alone?" Horroway asked.

But then Krang called out, "It's not alone."

Horroway twisted about and saw Krang moving further down the cargo pod, revealing a long, long line of berths stocked with more items. Some were packed to burst with smaller objects, others held only a single massive device, but all of them were full. Slowly the Captain followed him, inspecting the various berths as she went. There were many more Crisis suits, each one fitted with bulky weapons but also other more exotic items.

As she walked she heard D'ras saying, "Stealth suits, Devilfish transports, XV88 Broadside suits, Hammerhead tanks, Barracuda fighters, Pulse rifles galore."

"It's not just Tau tech," Robar pointed out in her ear, "Look at that; a Gykon death-wheel."

Horroway saw the items in the berths begin to change, becoming ever more exotic. As she walked further Numeta began to recite aloud from her data files, "Glag acid-spitters, Kumarag drop-ships, Kral'ac stratospheric bombers, Q'orl deathswarms, Bomarch mountain-breaker artillery, Egarian bone-leeches, Antedil psychic mines, Nekulli whisperlances, Yu'vath mind-rippers, Xuccandar war-rigs."

"It's like every race the Imperium has fought in the last century is represented here," Horroway mused, "These must be the looted spoils from an entire Segmentum."

Krang stopped suddenly and hissed, "That's a Tarellian assault crawler, have they no shame?!"

Numeta suddenly exclaimed, "Captain, this is just the first level. I calculate this one pod may hold enough weapons to equip an army. There are twenty pods per ship and given the number of ships in the convoy…"

"They're arming for war," Horroway exclaimed, "They are arming the entire Diasporex for war."

D'ras' voice ventured hesitantly, "These are dark times… maybe they intend to defend our fleet with these weapons."

"No," Horroway spat, "Look at these weapons, these are not the tools one uses for fighting boarding actions. These are ground-based weapons, the kind you use for planetary warfare or launching an invasion."

"Invasion?" D'ras exclaimed, "Who would we invade? The Diasporex has never embraced conquest. I can't believe the Senate would agree to start a full-scale war."

"Maybe not the whole Senate," Horroway muttered her suspicions growing darker by the moment, "But perhaps one or two of them might think that way."

"Captain," Krang suddenly exclaimed, "Look at this!"

Horroway hurried over and found the Tarellian standing outside a single berth. She manoeuvred to peer within and saw a large spherical container, filled with a swirling cloud of tiny black motes. They twisted and writhed in an alarmingly organic way and she had the strangest sensation that they were looking at her.

"Omniphages!" Numeta gasped over the vox, "I thought they were extinct. Self-replicating nanite world-killers, with sentient software of the foulest kind. I can hear their code-chatter and it is vile! You could clear a world of all life in hours using these, they were completely uncontrollable though, you'd have to be defective to think of actually using them."

Horroway stepped back and said, "We've seen enough, we need to get out of here. Somebody is planning to start a war and we have to stop them."

Krang bowed slightly and headed back the way they had come saying, "What shall we do?"

Horroway thought about it and said, "I don't think we can trust anybody right now, we need to keep this quiet. Keep this to yourselves until we return to the Mayflower, but right now let's get out of here."

With that they headed back the way they had come, taking care to leave no trace behind. Unfortunately what they did not realise was that they had already been observed. Behind them the Omniphages began to swell and writhe in their confinement, stirred into a frenzy by their appearance. Unnoticed, silent alarms began to flash, sending out a cyphered message that the weapons had been disturbed to any with ears to listen.


	29. Chapter 29

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 29**

The Captain's ready room was quite full, all the senior officers crammed in to consider what they had found. Each of them looked lost in thought, musing upon the implications. Even Numeta looked contemplative, an affectation but a suitable one. Captain Horroway was sitting behind her desk; hands folded before her as she looked at her officers and tried to think of something to say.

Finally D'ras broke the silence and said, "We are certain of this?"

Testily Krang answered, "Those weapons can only exist for one purpose, to start an invasion."

Numeta chimed in, "The Diasporex is constitutionally opposed to ground-war, we have never sought it deliberately."

"Times change," Robar muttered, "War is in the hearts of all."

Horroway knew he understood that kind of mindset better than most but stated, "Not us, we are not like the Imperials. There must be more going on here than we realise."

Cautiously Krang asked, "What of the rest of the squadron, do we think they know more than we do?"

"No way to tell," Horroway replied, "We can't trust anyone with this information. The only thing I'm certain of is this can't be common knowledge, the majority of our populace would never accept a war of aggression. We need to take what we have found straight to the Senate as soon as we return to the Mayflower."

"But what of the…" D'ras started to say but he was cut off as something odd began to occur. One wall in the ready room began to drain of colour as new shades began to etch themselves into reality. Horroway instantly recognised the signs of the quantum-pulse beacons in action and she knew before the shape was fully actualised who it would be. "Everybody out," she hissed as the familiar shape of her uncle's office manifested, "You too Numeta, engage privacy mode."

The ready room cleared and then a few moments later Horroway found herself confronted by Senator Acham, who was sitting behind his desk with a furious scowl upon his face. He looked upon her and in a low tone growled, "Janna… by the galactic maw what are you playing at?"

Horroway instantly realised that the Senator knew about her excursion, he knew that the cargo ships had been violated. Rather than demur or deny the fact she decided to confront him head on and rose to her feet saying firmly, "The question is: what have you been playing at, Senator?"

Acham glared at her and hissed, "How much did you see?"

Horroway crossed her arms and answered, "Enough, I saw the weapon shipments, I saw the armaments and the bombs. There's only one reason to have such weapons: you're planning an invasion!"

Acham glared for a long moment but then his stern visage crumbled and he said, "Janna… why did you have to go and look? I should have known you couldn't keep from poking around… too much of your mother in you."

Horroway stepped forward and spat angrily, "Its true, isn't it? You're really going to start a war?"

Acham leaned back in his chair and said, "Yes it's true, I wish it wasn't, but it has to be done."

"Why?" Horroway asked incredulously, "Uncle Jan, why would you do this?"

"Because we are dying!" Acham suddenly yelled, "The Diasporex is withering away to nothing; if we don't do something soon we will become extinct!"

Horroway was stunned by the outburst and spluttered, "What… what do you mean?"

Acham's ire subsided and he pinched his nose between his eyes in weariness as he explained, "The situation is far worse than you know, worse than almost anybody knows. The last decade has seen us beset by calamity on all sides, not just our nomad group but the entire Diasporex. Fleets across the galaxy are being decimated, the scale of our losses are insurmountable. Many of them have started going dark and we've lost contact with all but a handful of nomad fleets. I can only assume they are dead."

Horroway couldn't believe her ears and her hands went to cover her mouth as she gasped, "No, it can't be possible."

Acham looked like the weight of the galaxy was upon his shoulders and his head sank as he confessed, "We tried to keep it secret, to prevent panic spreading, but unless something changes soon we are facing the complete extinction of the Diasporex."

Horroway couldn't believe her ears and said, "But how will starting yet another war change any of that?"

Acham looked up and fire came back to his eyes as he professed, "From the Halo Zone to the galactic core, to the Eastern Fringe we are under attack. Wandering the galaxy has seen us become scattered and weak, dividing our strength so we can be picked off one by one. We need to come together, we need a place where we can unite and combine our numbers, to survive in the face of what's aboard in the galaxy. The Imperium is reeling and vulnerable, we can seize what we need, if we strike first."

Horroway shook her head in disbelief and muttered, "So you plan to invade Imperial worlds?"

Acham growled, "I plan to secure a base of operations for us, a place to come together and rebuild. Only a few worlds you understand, I have no plans to conquer Terra; I am not mad enough to think we can withstand the full might of the Imperium. But we can cleave away a few worlds for ourselves, a small corner of the galaxy where we can find shelter. Think of it, no more grubbing for resources, no more trading for scraps. Endless materials to rebuild our fleets and feed our population, we can be safe for a time, until we are strong enough to venture forth once more."

Horroway couldn't believe he was serious and uttered, "This is madness, the Imperium won't stand by and let you take their worlds. They will crush us!"

Acham raised a finger as if making a debating point and said, "A decade ago you would have been right, we would have stood no chance, but the galaxy has changed. The Imperium is on its last legs, it crumbles and falls. Vast reaches of the galaxy have fallen into silence, they won't notice if a few more worlds go silent. If we are careful to strike where they are not looking, then we can do this."

Horroway shook her head and argued, "You realise this plan hinges upon weapons given to you by an Inquisitor. You can't be stupid enough to trust him."

"Trust Zerban?!" Acham exclaimed mockingly, "I don't trust him one whit. I suspect he's sabotaged half the weapons and fitted the rest with self-destruct mechanisms. I'm not concerned; he relies upon blinkered and dogmatic Tech-priests. The Diasporex has access to technologies they can't dream of. Whatever surprises Zerban has left behind for us we can ferret out, he will be badly shocked if he is assuming he has the upper hand."

"And what of the Omniphages?" Horroway spat, "What of the world-killers?"

Acham went quiet for a moment and his face fell, then he muttered, "That's just for insurance."

At that Horroway hissed, "The Diasporex has never condoned the Exterminatus, those weapons violate our constitution!"

Acham swallowed then hesitantly uttered, "I don't intend to use them, but do we need them for worst-case scenarios."

Horroway glared at him and said, "I can't believe the Senate has agreed to this folly."

Acham's face went very still and Horroway realised the truth as she exclaimed, "They haven't agreed, have they?! This is all you; you're doing this behind their back!"

Acham kept his poker face straight as he stated, "No, I am not alone. A few other races have signed on with the plan, the ones who truly hate the Imperials."

"Not enough of them I'd wager," Horroway countered.

Acham's jaw tightened as he uttered, "There has been some resistance, but plans are in motion. I will save the Diasporex whether they want me to or not. I only need my friends to stand with me; if you joined with me we could do this together."

"Me?!" Horroway spluttered, "I will do no such thing!"

Acham rose from his desk and stepped towards her, as if to take her hands as he said, "Janna, I want you on my side. Please, think of our people, we are so close to the edge now. The Diasporex teeters over the precipice of extinction but we can save them, if we work together."

Horroway couldn't believe the man who had guided for all her life was saying these things and declared, "This violates everything the Diasporex has ever believed in. We are explorers and pioneers, not conquerors. The Senate will never approve of this, let alone the populace, they will not stand for this madness."

Acham growled in response, "I wasn't going to offer them a choice. With these weapons I will make them comply."

"Treason," Horroway gasped, "You're planning to overthrow the Senate!"

Acham's held out his hands yearningly as he pleaded, "Janna please, I know what is it to be a Captain. I've stood on the bridge of a ship, with the stars beckoning me on, calling out to me. I know what you feel, I've felt it too, the urge to keep going on forever and never stop. But I also know the responsibility that comes with it, all the lives that are in your hands and the knowledge that they look to you to keep them safe. You've made hard choices before, I know you have and we both understand that sometimes there is no clean solution. Sometimes you have to sacrifice your ideals in order to survive."

Horroway heard the desperate tone in his voice and the memory of all the times they had shared flashed in her mind but she still proclaimed, "You have sacrificed too much uncle. The Diasporex will never become conquerors on my watch. Your scheme will doom us, not save us, you have to stop."

Acham lowered his hands and whispered, "Janna… I can't. I won't let us fade away like the Kinebrach or the Uluvane; I won't let us become one more dead race in the annals of the galaxy. I can't let anything stand between us and survival."

Yet Horroway stepped back from him and declared, "Senator Acham, you have violated the laws and constitutions of the Diasporex. You are guilty of treason and I am left with no choice but to report your actions to the Senate. I suggest you present yourself to the guards and confess everything, they may show leniency if you come forward of your own free will. "

Acham was quiet for a long moment then said in a sad voice, "I'm sorry Janna, I really wanted you with me on this, but it seems it was not to be."

With that the old man faded away, taking the illusion of the office with him. Horroway stood for long seconds, staring at the blank wall and trying to comprehend what she had heard. She wondered how the stern guide she had known for so long could have conceived of such insanity but there had been no hint of doubt in his voice. The conclusion was inescapable; Acham truly meant to go through with this. She had to stop him; his plan would lead to disaster and it was up to her to prevent him from destroying the Diasporex forever.

She drew in a sad breath and was about to reach for her comm unit but at that exact the second the deck heaved beneath her, throwing her to one side, as a thunderous noise rang out. Horroway hit the side of her desk and felt her teeth slam down on her tongue. The iron taste of blood filled her mouth as the clamour of alarms rang loudly, filling her ready room with uproar. Her comm unit squawked to life and the voice of D'ras wailed, "Captain, come in Captain!"

Horroway spat blood from her mouth and hit the device crying, "Bridge report, what happened?"

D'ras replied in a horrified tone, "The Scythians just fired upon us; they shot us in the back! The rest of the fleet is coming about to envelop us in a crossfire. The Scythians, the Borlac and the Orreti all of them… Captain, we're under attack by our own side! What do we do?!"

Horroway felt a wave of horrified disbelief wash over her but she would never have become a Captain were she was prone to freezing up, so she pushed it back with force of will. She leapt to her feet and raced towards the door shouting, "Sound Scarlet-alert, all hand to Battlestations! We'll have to fight our way out!"


	30. Chapter 30

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 30**

The bridge was in uproar, filled with panic and discord. Crewman desperately shouted at each other as alarms rang and servitors wailed. Contradictory orders were bellowed back and forth as officers fought among themselves, all of them utterly bewildered. The cause of this anarchy was plain to see, they had been fired upon by their own allies and none knew how to respond.

Into that confusion sprinted Captain Horroway, running for all she was worth. Damn dignity and authority, the Bonaventure was under attack and she had to take command. The Captain didn't pause as she entered but raced past the shouting crewmen, heading straight for the command pedestal where D'ras was fighting for control. The Number One saw her coming and vacated her chair, making way as she vaulted the pedestal and assumed her position of authority.

Breathlessly she shouted, "Report!"

D'ras answered swiftly, "We were attacked by the Scythians, a pair of their sloops shot us when our shields were down. There was no warning, they just opened fire!"

"Damn Acham," Horroway growled, "He must have turned them to his cause."

"What?" D'ras wailed, "Senator Acham? What's going on?"

Horroway heard the distress in his voice and by extension the rest of the bridge crew's. She instantly saw the crew were useless to her in this state, the confusion and shock being more crippling than a barrage of Meson-Beamers. The Captain drew in a breath and shouted loudly, "Silence!"

Eyes everywhere sought her and she met them with her chin held high as she proclaimed, "I know you're scared and confused. We are betrayed by our friends and allies, it's hard to believe and you need time to process but there is no time. Questions and answers can come later, for now I need you to return to your posts and obey my orders. Remember who we are, we are the Diasporex and there is nothing in the galaxy that we have not already overcome. The Bonaventure is the finest ship in the fleet and if we work as one then we shall survive even this! So attend to your duties, prepare for action and trust in the being next to you."

The crew did not cheer but they diligently moved to their posts, restoring systems and functionality. Horroway looked at D'ras and fought the urge to berate him, as First Officer he should have restored order before she got there. She filed away the thought and called out, "Numeta, damage report."

The Binaric being appeared in a flash of light and stated, "They hit our rear armour and severed several power conduits. Secondary systems took over the load but if they break through our shields and hit us again we will lose power to the drives."

"We can't let that happen," Horroway growled, "Give me a Tactical Hololith."

A three-dimensional projection sprang into life over her head and she instantly saw the situation. The Bonaventure was moving slightly behind the convoy, trailing the squadron as a rear-guard. Behind her a pair of Sloops were stuck firmly to the stern, while the other three were sweeping in to join them. Horroway knew that with all five escorts in their rear the cruiser stood no chance, they could grind her down one shot at a time. Even more concerning were the other capital ships, the Arsenal ship was swinging about to engage while further out the Gun-Brigs were moving to the port flank, from where they could cut off any retreating vessel.

Horroway instantly saw the Bonaventure was caught in a trap, outnumbered and outgunned. The vectors were cruel and unforgiving; there was no way to escape. For a moment Horroway wondered how Acham had subverted all three races to his cause, and how much of the Diasporex beyond he controlled, but there was no time for idle speculation. Making a decision Horroway ordered, "Helm come to starboard, Mr Krang ready all guns, Meson-Beamers and the Ceti-disruptor. We need to scrape these ticks off our back."

The Hololith slowly began to turn as the ship came about but D'ras approached saying, "Captain, I am sending out continuous hails and stand-down orders to our allies but we are receiving no communications at all."

Suddenly the ship rocked underneath them and the Captain hung onto her chair to keep from being thrown aside while Robar proclaimed, "Direct hit, shields are holding but they won't last forever!"

"Damned Znuch, he always did like stabbing people in the back," Horroway muttered then declared, "I think we have our answer, they are not allies anymore. There will be no standing down, we have to fight. Krang, where are my guns?"

The Tarellian shouted back, "Guns can't get an angle Captain, they're right in our stern!"

Horroway looked into the Hololith and saw it was true, the Sloops were far more manoeuvrable than the Cruiser and no matter how the Bonaventure turned she could not come to bear. They were now being joined by their kin and all five ships were perfectly positioned to tear her apart. Horroway felt a surge of denial but suppressed it, she wracked her mind for answers and ran the vectors over and over but there was no way out, the plain truth was that they were trapped.

Desperately Horroway considered every weapon and tool at her disposal, but nothing on board could help her. But then it struck her that there was something on board she didn't usually have. Hesitantly she called out, "Mr Robar… did you recharge the Decoy-drones?"

Robar looked up in surprise and answered, "Yes but Captain that won't work. Our… attackers, have active locks on our hull, no illusion will fool them at this range."

"Maybe," Horroway mused as the hint of a plan formed in her mind, "Ready the drones anyway, set them to create an illusion of the Bonaventure and stand by for orders."

Robar went to work on a console as D'ras came up and asked, "What are you thinking?"

Horroway didn't answer for she was staring at the Hololith and running vectors in her head. An idea was forming but it was desperate and foolhardy, the chances of it working were ludicrously small. Suddenly the ship rocked again and servitors screamed as Robar shouted, "Shields buckling, I can't keep them up much longer!"

Horroway made a snap decision and shouted, "Helm come to course 125 by 080, two-thirds thrust!"

D'ras stepped back and said, "But Captain… that takes us straight at the Arsenal ship!"

"You heard the order," Horroway growled, "Now do it!"

As the Tau hurried to comply Horroway said, "Robar, ready the decoy-drones for a ballistic launch. Numeta channel reserve power to the capacitors and it hold there, on my mark shunt every last drop into the thrusters."

Numeta affected nervousness and asked, "Are we planning to ram them?"

Horroway shook her head and said, "No… but I want them to think we are. They have no heavy-drones left, which leaves only one possible response."

Slowly the Bonaventure turned, coming to bear upon the Arsenal ship. Horroway saw its icon growing as the distance shrank in the Hololith and she felt her heart fluttering in anxiety. Her plan was completely insane but she had no other ideas in her head. Inch by inch the icons closed, drawing them nearer and nearer together. Horroway gripped the armrests of her chair tightly and muttered, "Come on S'sner do it, you know you have to."

Suddenly the ship rocked again and Robar called, "The Sloops hit us again, shields collapsing, we can't take another hit like that!"

"Damn it," Horroway growled, "Increase acceleration to maximum, give me ramming speed!"

The crew looked nervous but complied and the icons in the Hololith swelled as the distances shrank. Horroway could only watch and wait as sweat dripped down her neck and the seconds crawled by. Then suddenly Numeta shrieked, "They're firing, they're firing! Torpedo-drones in the void, ninety seconds till impact!"

Horroway almost leapt out of her seat as she cried, "Robar, launch the Decoy-drones straight ahead. Numeta channel reserve power to the manoeuvring thrusters. Helm come to a new heading, hard-a-starboard!"

The crew sprang into action and Horroway saw the stars wheel in the Hololith. Slowly the Bonaventure began to turn, pulling off to the side. Meanwhile a diffuse cloud of drones spilled out from her shuttle bays, forming up on their previous course. There was a second of distortion as they activated and then the Hololith blinked and suddenly there were two ships, where before there was only one. One headed straightforward, the other pulling away, but too slowly, far too slowly.

Numeta stated with a nervous tone, "Sixty seconds to Torpedo-drone impact."

Frantically Horroway shouted, "Drain power from life-support and weapons, push everything into the thrusters!"

Fretfully Robar shouted up, "Captain, the Bonaventure is already pushing her tolerances, she's not a fighter craft!"

But Horroway yelled back, "Just do it!"

There was a strange moment as the world trembled and then the sensation of immense G-forces pressed Horroway to one side. She knew it was the artificial gravity failing, stripped of the power it needed to keep inertia at bay. She had never felt such sensations on the bridge of a ship this size but she gritted her teeth and held on. The icons were closing faster and faster in the Hololith, less than a minute away but still it was too close to call.

Robar was clinging to a console as the world seemed to tilt around them and he yowled, "Structural failures on decks seven, twenty and forty-two! Plasma conduits overloading on deck eighty-seven. Captain, she wasn't built for this!"

But then Numeta cried, "Thirty seconds to impact!"

Horroway gripped onto her chair for dear life and cried, "Disengage safeties limits and push reactors to the red-line! Drain every last drop of power into the thrusters, we must turn faster!"

The ship's superstructure groaned as the Bonaventure fought to come about and Robar screamed, "Plasma conduits breaching on decks sixty through seventy-three. Structural failures on all affected decks! Captain, the sheer is too much; it's ripping us apart!"

Horroway's only response was shout at the top of her lungs, "Turn damn you, TURN!"

Outside the ship the Torpedo-drones hurtled forwards, bearing down on their target. They were sophisticated weapons with advanced tracking technology but they were struggling to comprehend the situation. They had been targeted upon one ship but now found themselves confronted by two. One ship was pulling away while the other, completely indistinguishable to their Binaric brains, was barrelling straight forward. The drones struggled to process the situation and eventually settled upon the simplest answer; the target coming right at them took priority.

The Torpedo-drones shot straight forward, diving upon the target only to experience digital confusion when they passed through the location without encountering anything. The machines had no concept of sensor illusions and auspex ghosts and could not grasp that they had locked onto a phantom. Utterly bereft of understanding the torpedo-drones reverted to basic protocols: lock onto the nearest energy sources and destroy them and they found such targets trailing right behind the ghost ship: the Scythian sloops.

Instantly the Torpedo-drones, fixated upon their new targets, hurling themselves at the pursuing escorts. The Scythians were caught completely off-guard by the unexpected attack and barely had time to react. A desultory burst of turret fire was their only counter as the drones weaved past their defences and dove upon their exposed hulls. In moments the drones impacted the escorts and detonated. Each blast was comparatively small but their cumulative effect was staggering. Explosions wracked the sloops, blasting hulls apart and disintegrating whole compartments. Detonation after detonation walked across their hulls and in moments three frigates were vaporised and the other two left crippled and powerless, falling silent as their remaining crews ran for the escape pods.

On the Bonaventure's bridge the crew erupted into cheers at the sight, exhilarated by their reprieve. Horroway breathed easier and leaned back, feeling a moment of relief. Gravity came back to normal as systems were reset and Krang shouted in excitement, "Take that you treacherous vermin!"

Robar agreed, "I never liked that Znuch, I hope he's dead."

Horroway let out a breath she had not known she was holding and ordered, "Restore primary systems and get power levels back to normal. Move it people, we're not done yet!"

As if to fulfil her prophecy, Numeta shimmered for a moment then called, "Captain, the Gun-Brigs are coming to bear, targeting sweeps locking on!"

"It seems the Borlac aren't willing to let us go so easily," Horroway muttered, then commanded, "Stand ready everybody, this is going to be rough."


	31. Chapter 31

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 31**

The Gun-brigs closed upon their prey at maximum acceleration, weapon batteries gleaming with reflected starlight, each and every one a herald of violence. Inside the warships Atomonic warheads were primed to be flung into space in a barrage that could cripple any vessel in a single volley. Together the Gun-brigs relentlessly bore down upon their target, determined to wreak carnage and end this fight.

On the bridge of the Bonaventure Captain Horroway watched them coming, two fierce brawlers bearing down upon her poor ship. In any other circumstances she would have favoured the Bonaventure over the squat pugilists but this was going to be a straight-up brawl, exactly the kind of fight where the Borlac excelled. She knew the Borlac's commander all too well, Deesh was an expert at placing his shots where they could do the most damage and there was no doubt he intended to end this fight in one pass.

As the Borlac pounced Horroway shouted, "All hands, brace for impact!"

Crewmen raced to obey but Robar lifted his voice to cry, "We still have fires in the lower decks."

"Seal them off and vent the air," Horroway ordered, "We have no time for repairs."

Time seemed to crawl by as the crew fought to direct energy to protective baffles and seal hatches. Barely had the Bonaventure finished her preparations when the Gun-brigs fired, blasting away with every gun they had. Their prows seemed to sprout a forest of explosions as their barrels hurled charges into the void, a spread of Atomonic bombs that saturated space with denotations.

Horroway felt the bridge heave around her as the Bonaventure was inundated with nuclear explosions, saturated with waves of energy and radiation. The blasts washed over the Bonaventure's shields and caused the ship to stagger in space, engines and gravities failing. Horroway clung onto her chair as the bridge shook and the crew desperately fought to keep their systems operational. The violence running through the ship made it sound like she was screaming, a harsh wail of metal and devices. Horroway gritted her teeth but in moments the shields were overwhelmed and the warheads started hitting the hull directly. Great crashing booms rang out as the ship was battered by the detonations, tearing and gouging at her superstructure. Alarms wailed and she knew they heralded the destruction of vital systems and breaching compartments. Even now hundreds of her crew would be dying, their bodies blasted into atoms by explosions or sucked out of breached compartments into the void. On and on the strikes came, seemingly without end and Horroway had to fight to keep her eyes from screwing up in fear.

Then at last the barrage ceased and the shaking stopped. Alarms wailed loudly but Horroway called out, "Damage report!"

Robar shouted back, "Heavy damage, the brace action kept us alive but we took deep wounds. Armour's all torn up and shields… the shields, Captain the shield generators are off-line! We have lost all shield capacity!"

Horroway felt a rush of horror as she grasped the danger and looked up into the Hololith where the various icons were manoeuvring around each other. The Borlac had broken off their attack run, the limited arc of their prow guns meaning they had to sweep out and line up for another strafing pass. Horroway looked at the vectors and wondered if she had time to break off and run for deep space but the Borlac would be back before they could disengage and without shields the Bonaventure would not survive.

Desperate for time Horroway called out, "Krang, give them a volley from the main guns."

The Tarellian called back, "Aye Captain, but power levels are diminished, we won't do much against their heavy armour."

"Just keep them distracted," Horroway commanded, "Mr Robar get power back to the guns and fix those shields!"

The crew fought to obey her as fast as they were able but suddenly D'ras cried aloud, "Captain, the Arsenal ship! They are manoeuvring to launch drones upon our flank!"

Horroway saw it was true, the Orreti were inching into the Hololith, clearly intending to join the fight. She snarled in frustration at the sight, they couldn't afford to be fighting yet another ship right now. If the Orreti joined with the Borlac then the Bonaventure was finished. Horroway tried to calculate a way to fend them off but the vectors were merciless. The Bonaventure was already pressed to the limit fending off the Gun-brigs; if she turned to engage the Orreti then they would be torn to shreds.

Horroway turned in desperation to Numeta and said, "The Orreti rely on automated drones, can you do anything?"

The Binaric being affected frustration and said, "If I could get into their cogitators, maybe, but I have no access. They are blocking my efforts at every turn."

Horroway's hand instantly fell to her chair and she frantically began tapping out a sixteen-digit, alpha-numeric code on a runepad as she explained, "This is my personal command code, if the Orreti haven't had time to erase it from their cogitators then it might override their lockouts."

Numeta froze and said in a dull monotone that did not match the movement of her lips, "Processing, processing, processing… access confirmed, I am in. What do you want me to do?"

"Something, anything," Horroway snapped, "Just keep them off our back!"

Numeta replied emotionlessly, "Primary systems are firewalled but I have access to the drones themselves. I am introducing an errant command for a scheduled maintenance period to all drones… there it's done. They will have to manually reboot each and every drone, it will take them hours."

"Good work," Horroway exclaimed, "Now can you get into the Borlac's cogitators and…"

Suddenly Numeta winced and looked pained as she exclaimed, "Yow!"

Horroway was concerned, "What was that?"

Numeta grimaced and stated, "They figured out what I did and sent a feedback pulse up the link. That was fast, they're smarter than I gave them credit for. The stinging I can handle, but they're resetting all access codes."

"Damn," Horroway muttered, "So much for my command code, we won't be able to repeat that trick, but at least we don't have to worry about the Orreti."

She returned her eyes to the Hololith and saw that Borlac had completed their turn and were closing for another pass. She looked for an escape route but there were none; the Bonaventure could not avoid the coming onslaught. She glanced at Robar in the desperate hope that he had got the shields back up but his frantic efforts were not at all encouraging.

D'ras looked up nervously and said, "Borlac are closing into gun range, what shall we do?"

"We can't take them both," Horroway breathed, "Our only chance is to take them one at a time… Krang focus on bringing down their shields then hit the lead ship with the Meson-Beamers."

Krang leapt to obey but D'ras whispered, "That will give the other a free shot at our hull, perhaps we should brace."

"It won't be enough," Horroway countered, "Numeta, run a structural analysis on the Borlac, do they have any weakness?"

"Stand by," the avatar replied as lights cascaded over her then she declared, "They use Atomonic charges for shells but if the Meson-Beamers hit one while it was in the tube there is a remote probability it might cause a premature detonation."

"It's all we've got," Horroway growled as she watched the distance shrink, "Krang, fire guns on my mark… MARK!"

The Bonaventure's flank lit up as her main batteries flung plasma blasts into the void. The shining balls of energy hurtled through space and enveloped the Borlac ships, wrapping them in swathes of energy. The blunt-nosed craft ploughed through the barrage, their shields crackling with strain as they absorbed incandescent salvos of plasma. The fusillade was devastating, making their shields turn opaque and then they blew out with an electro-magnetic bang.

Horroway saw the shields fall and cried, "Fire Meson-beamers!" Instantly two twin beams of energy stabbed out at the speed of light. They struck the leading Gun-Brig right above its blunt-prow and cored through its armour with ease. Deeper and deeper the beams tunnelled, tearing into its forward batteries with deadly power. Secondary systems failed as vital components were destroyed and then the beams struck something vital.

A fraction of a degree error meant the beams missed the warheads but they did encounter a vital capacitor, brimming with latent energy. The capacitor exploded instantly, shattering nearby power lines and oxygen feeds to create a volatile mix that instantly caught fire. The conflagration leapt through the Gun-brig, spreading unstoppably as fuel and munitions were set ablaze and the craft spun out of control as the crew ran for the escape pods. The fire spread in seconds, overrunning the flailing crew and turning the brutal vessel into a flaming hulk of wreckage.

One ship had been taken out of the fight but there was nothing left to stop its twin and the other Gun-brig swept into range, weapons blazing. Horroway saw the salvo emerge but there was no time to react as the barrage caught the unshielded Bonaventure while she was vulnerable. The bridge tilted around her as titanic explosions boomed through the hull, like a giant was pounding it with a hammer. Screams arose from organic crew and ship's systems alike and never had she heard a vessel in such torment. Desperate reports flew back and forth in the chaos and she heard crewmen shouting, "Armour breached… seventy dead in… vacuum breaches on decks fifty-three to one hundred and one… Shuttle bay four you've got an overload building, shuttle bay can you hear me, is anyone still alive down there… I can't get power to the fire suppressants… Medicae bay three is gone, casualties total!"

On and on the barrage came and Horroway felt every rip and tear in her beloved ship as if it were her own body. The Bonaventure was suffering as never before but worse was to come. A single charge strayed too high and caught the dorsal tower over the bridge, obliterating it in one shot.

The whole bridge shook from the blast and Robar cried in horror, "The communications tower is gone!"

But Horroway had no answer as the wails and booms continued to drown her out. Then suddenly the onslaught stopped as the Borlac shot past them.

Horroway's hands shook on the sides of her chair and hoarsely she spoke, "Where were we hit?"

"Where weren't we?" Robar spat, "Critical damage to all sections, power levels dropping ship wide… we're crippled."

Horroway stared into the stuttering and fritzing Hololith and called, "Weapons?"

Robar shook his head and said, "Only a few shots left in the capacitors."

Horroway saw how terrible their situation was but refused to submit to despair as she probed, "What about the Ceti-disrupter?"

Robar paused for a moment then said, "If I drain all the power from the weapons, I can give you one shot… but only one."

"Do it," Horroway commanded with more confidence than she felt, "Krang, fire control is at your discretion. You've got one shot… make it count."

Krang rushed to the weapon console, pushing a crewman aside as he muttered, "Come on then Deesh, let's see that fat face of yours."

Horroway could do nothing but wait and trust in her tactical officer as the Gun-brig came about for another pass. The Hololith showed them turning, bringing about their mighty prow weapons and Horroway felt like she was facing an execution squad. Inexorably the Borlac came to bear, fixing the Bonaventure squarely in their sights but one second before they could fire the Ceti-disruptor discharged.

Arcing energies crossed the void in an instant and clipped the Gun-brig. Lighting instantly swaddled the craft in its cruel embrace, tearing apart targeting arrays and overloading cogitators. The craft shuddered in the void as its weapons were scrambled, rendering its guns impotent. The Borlac ship was physically undamaged but its ability to fight was null and void.

"A hit!" Horroway yelled in elation, "Well done Krang!"

Krang panted in exertion, the Tarellian equivalent of wiping sweat from his brow and said, "That was too close."

Horroway responded, "We're alive and our enemies are crippled or on fire. Its time to get out of here, the Bonaventure is still the fastest ship in the fleet, they can't catch us now."

Wearily the crew obeyed but D'ras looked up and said, "Captain… where shall we go?"

Horroway realised she had no answer for him and could only utter, "Worry about disengaging first; we can sort out the rest later on."


	32. Chapter 32

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 32**

"It is no exaggeration to say that this situation is the worst calamity in our long history." The words rang out, filling the office with Senator Acham's patrician tones. Acham was seated in his customary place behind his desk as he addressed his guests. Acham looked at them in turn and took their measure. The Senator was well accustomed to speaking to multiple races at once, the Diasporex was formed by many species and each of them had a proportional voice in its government.

Across from him sat three other Senators, the chief representatives of their own races. They were all familiar faces, oft supporting or opposing him as the vagaries of politics dictated. Acham considered them as the comfortable faces of old rivals, an enmity so familiar as to be almost friendship. After all they had all used their rivals to advance their own position one way or another. Of course there were many more Senators but they represented minor races, it was these three who spoke for the significant factions of the Diasporex that did not already support Acham.

The first to speak was Kenaj, the Tarellian envoy, he was a fearsome looking reptilian but his scales were tinged grey by age and he said via a small implant, "The situation is bleak but not without hope."

The second speaker was covered in iridescent feathers and had a hooked beak, Farger of the Gykon, an old adversary of Acham's and she said, "We agreed to your proposal to barter with the Rogue Trader, that should help our recovery somewhat."

Decades of experience meant Acham's face gave nothing away; one could never tell how good aliens were at reading human body language. It was true that these three had agreed to his trade but they knew nothing of the particulars. They did not know of the wider plan, of the weapon shipments or the scheme to use them as instruments of conquest. Acham was playing a dangerous game but a necessary one, the Diasporex couldn't be divided and fighting itself if the plan was to work.

Acham drew in a breath and said, "Supplies alone will not alter things, we need to change the situation entirely."

The third Senator resembled a large Crab-like being, squatting upon a short pedestal instead of a chair. This was Illrell of the Tushepta and its mouth mandibles made a fast clinking noise that was translated via an implant to produce the words, "We have discussed this before, your ideas are counter-productive."

Acham suppressed a grimace; he had only touched upon the broadest strokes of his plan with these three, in hypothetical terms of course. Yet now things were in motion and he needed them to fall in line. Acham replied in measured tones, "You've seen the long-term projections; our odds of survival shrink daily. The Diasporex is facing extinction unless we do something proactive."

Kenaj responded, "How many times must we have this argument, throwing our meagre fleets away is foolhardy."

Acham glared and said, "I thought the Tarellians embraced battle."

Kenaj's jaw snapped, the equivalent of a shrug and he replied, "We fight to live, we do not live to fight."

Farger added, "The Diasporex will do what we have always done: go dark and disappear into the darkness between stars. This storm will pass, as have all others."

Acham shook his head and said, "It is different this time, the galaxy is ripped in two. Chaos pours out of the great rift, Tyranids swarm in the Halo Zone, Necrons rise in the Galactic core and Orks are everywhere. We can't run anymore, there's nowhere left to flee to."

"What do you propose?" Illrell asked, clicking its claws.

"If we can't find a safe harbour then we must take one," Acham stated boldly, "The Imperium has worlds to spare. They are reeling and weak, we can claim a place in this galaxy, if we act daringly."

Kenaj flexed his talons and exclaimed, "Conquest?! Utter folly; we cannot win such a war."

"You speak fantasy," Farger concurred, "This will lead to disaster."

Illrell added, "We have tolerated your delusions up till now, but no longer. The Senate will never agree to this, we won't allow it."

Acham looked at the three of them for a long moment and saw that they were resolute and united in their opposition. He had hoped that they could be persuaded but it was obvious to him that they would never support his plan. These three were obstacles to the survival of the Diasporex and he knew he couldn't afford any hindrances to the completion of his scheme.

Decision made Acham's hand fell to a sealed drawer in his desk and quick as a flash he pulled out a laspistol. The three Senators barely had time to gasp in shock as he raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger. Ruthlessly Acham emptied the pistol, blasting each politician in turn before they could even call for help. He put las-bolts into each of their heads, and several more into Illrell to be sure and watched as they collapsed.

Acham lowered his pistol sadly, he regretted that this had been necessary but he had been out of options. He had entertained the dream that they would see things his way, but in his heart he had always known this was inevitable. They had been too blinkered and narrow-minded to see the path to survival and too timid to act. Acham wouldn't make the same mistake; he would do whatever was necessary to ensure the Diasporex survived.

Acham pressed a button on his desk to summon his loyal guards, all human naturally, and waved them to drag the bodies away. As they cleared the room he stood up and looked out the window at the primary Biosphere, where the various races were intermingling; all blissfully unaware of how close they were to the end. Acham felt a great surge of resentment at their willful ignorance of the actions that kept them alive, but such was his lot. Someone had to get their hands dirty so others could live in peace.

Acham grimaced at the thought, remembering that there were even worse things occurring out in the dark and he needed to check on the progress of his allies. Acham turned and returned to his desk, and opened up a panel, a few moments of manipulation let him access the quantum-beacons and activate the remote projection system. He turned and stood impatiently as the office swam before him, feeling the empathic feedback resonate within him. It was an odd side-effect of the projections, the way it responded to need not will, but he had long since mastered that. In moments his office seemed to extend into a bleak comms-room and he found himself confronted by a large lizard.

Impatiently Acham snapped, "Get S'sner." And the lizard bustled off in a rush. A minute passed and then the Orreti leader arrived, slithering into the room with her strange gait. Then two flares of light erupted and the sights of Deesh and Znuch appeared in glowing Hololithic from. S'sner drew herself up and peered about saying, "I zee thingz did not go well."

Acham replied sadly, "As we feared, the others would not listen to reason."

S'sner licked her lips with a forked tongue and remarked, "I told you zo, you zhould have killed them much earlier."

Acham was incensed and spat, "Don't preach to me, I was leading our fleets before your race even joined the Diasporex. It is a tragedy that they wouldn't listen but an unavoidable one. They were too fixed in their ways, they had to die."

Deesh rumbled, "Typical hewmans, all always squirming out of things."

Acham glared at him and snarled, "Don't question my commitment, need I remind you I issued the order to execute my own blood-kin!"

An awkward silence greeted that and Acham's suspicions stirred, he had decades of experience dealing with alien body-language and these three had the signs of unease and nervousness written all over them. Acham's eyes narrowed and he hissed, "What are you hiding? What happened?"

Suddenly Znuch cowered and chittered, "It wasn't our fault, she trick-tricked us! She burned our ships and ran!"

Acham's jaw fell in shock and he exclaimed, "The Bonaventure isn't dead?!"

"They outmanoeuvred uz," S'sner protested, "They fought free and ran for the deep void. We tracked them az far az we could but they were too fazt. They disappeared into the night."

Acham couldn't believe what he was hearing and cried, "You're saying they got away?! You had the advantages of numbers, firepower and surprise on your side and you let them get away!"

In response Deesh growled, "We didn't let them do anything, they fought free, but not before they took a mauling. They were trailing fire and plasma from every deck as they fled. They won't get far."

"Far enough to wreck everything," Acham spat, "Dammit Janna, why did you have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't you have seen sense?"

At that point Znuch spoke up saying, "What shall we do-do?"

Acham didn't answer right away instead he thought upon all the implications. Janna had escaped; she must have shown admirable daring and bravery but for the wrong cause. A part of him wished he could have had such brilliance on his side but he knew the time for wishes was past, what he had chosen was at hand. Janna's escape ruined all his careful plans, she would not hesitate to report to the Senate and once that happened he would be undone.

Acham drew in a breath and said, "Time is against us, we need to move fast. Get back here and bring the weapons with you."

"You don't want uz to continue the purzuit?" S'sner asked.

Acham knew the means of their conversation would be considered miraculous to many but right now he dearly wished they had succeeded in duplicating the ancient relic's teleport functions, so he could slap some sense into these fools. Instead he growled, "You'll never catch the Bonaventure, she's the fastest ship in the fleet. You'll do better coming here and helping me seize control of the Senate."

Deesh sounded angry as he pointed out, "We don't take orders from you, our races agreed to this plan so we could take our rightful place in the Diasporex."

Acham glared at him and said, "Don't quibble over semantics now, we have no time. I have spent two years putting my men into the right positions and I have the ear of half the Captains of the fleet. The time has come to act and you need me too much to argue. We can sort out issues of privilege when we rule the Mayflower."

Deesh didn't seem pleased but it was Znuch who questioned, "Can we still succeed?"

Acham faced the three of them and said, "Everything is set, all I need is those weapons to arm my followers. The bigger guns can wait but I need the small arms to overwhelm the Senate Guards. We can take control of the Mayflower in a day; the rest of the fleet will fall soon after."

"What of the other racez?" S'sner pressed.

"They will wake to find our kind in command of the Diasporex," Acham declared, "My forces will hold all the power and with the Orreti, Borlac and Scythians we will create a new Senate, one not bound by timidity and fear. The other races can choose to bow to our authority or they will be made to bow."

"The Matriarchz will be pleased," S'sner proclaimed, "They never could ztand the feeble rule of the Zenate."

Deesh rumbled, "The time has come for the strong to lead and bring our wrath to the hated Imperium."

Znuch concurred, "Great will be the spoil-spoils!"

Acham nodded and said, "Return swiftly, we shall strike soon. In the meantime I intend to lead the fleet itself from the bridge of the Hera, the other Captains may try to make a fight of it but I shall ensure any resistance is short-lived."

With that the quantum-beacons powered down and the illusion faded. Acham rubbed his eyes wearily and wondered why all the races he admired had turned away to leave him with these greedy and treacherous idiots. Still, it was all he had and he had to move fast. Yet he spared a moment to wonder where Janna was right now and to fervently hope that she managed to stay away until this was over. It really would be a shame if he had to kill her.


	33. Chapter 33

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 33**

Smoke filled the air, it was everywhere, a pervasive stink that clawed its way into the nostrils and tore at the senses. The smell filled the ship with its musty odour. The merest whiff telling a dire story, a tale of lives cut violently short with terrifying speed and callous indifference. It was not merely organics that had suffered, for machines were dying too, the smoke testified to that. Devices that should have cleaned the air were wreckage, just like the piles of debris that choking the corridors.

Captain Horroway was inspecting such a tangle, her eyes taking in a twisted snarl of beams, plates and wiring that blocked the corridor. The mess was still sparking as errant power surges shuddered through it, but that was not nearly enough to hide the blood stains on the metal. Dried trickles of bodily fluids that attested to the corpses churned up in that twisted mess. The Captain was currently standing in a major arterial passage leading from the bridge, one that should have been wide enough to drive an APC down. She was haggard and worn, her grey hair straying out of the short bun she had hastily tied it into. She was currently wearing a rebreather mask, one that should be proof against the smoke, but strangely didn't seem to be having much success at keeping the stench out.

Horroway had her hands on her hips as she surveyed the wreckage then she called, "We need to clear this."

Behind her a deck chief came up and said, "What about the bodies?"

"Retrieve as many as you can," Horroway ordered, "But we need this passage open, every other access to the bridge is cut off. We need this open."

From behind her a damage control party hurried up with plasma cutters in their hands, or other various appendages, and went to work clearing the debris. Horroway stepped back and watched their labours. A part of her wanted to muck in like any other crewman, it would be nice to forget the past day by engaging in manual labour but she had other duties. The Captain had spent as much time away from the bridge as she could, there were responsibilities waiting that she couldn't put off any longer.

"Carry on," Horroway ordered and then turned and strode away. She walked a meandering route that headed up towards the bridge. Everywhere she went she saw her crew working hard, trying to clear the damage and restore functionality to the ship. The Bonaventure had suffered terribly in the battle and the damage was extensive, every deck had taken terrible scars and the ship was limping along. The casualties among the crew had been shocking, there was not a soul on board who had not lost a comrade and she could see the pain in their eyes as she walked.

Horroway put on a brave face for their sake, the crew couldn't be allowed to see their Captain looking morose but in truth she had no comfort to offer them. How could she explain the situation, how could she tell them that they were all alone in the dark? Silently Horroway made her way to her ready room, speaking to no one and stopping for nothing.

Hastily she marched into her office and tore off her rebreather, then sighed when she saw her comm-unit was blinking with hundreds of messages and reports. Yet what drew her attention was not her desk, with a half-drunk cup of recaff still sitting there, but rather the Eldar statue in the corner. During the violence of the battle it had toppled over and a chunk had been chipped off. Horroway turned her back on the comm-unit and moved to right the statue, then she picked up the broken chunk and held it in her hand.

Eldar workmanship was inhumanly sublime but the tiniest flaw could ruin the totality. The missing chunk stood out like a flare, glaring at her with its imperfection. She considered trying to glue it back together but knew her merely human hands would fail; the cracks would stand out no matter what she did. With a sigh she turned and thumped the broken chunk down on the desk, but as she did so her hand inadvertently caught her mug and sent it flying. The cup fell to the floor and shattered as it hit the hard deck. Horroway saw the recaff spill out, running everywhere like split blood. It was such a little thing, just a basic ceramic mug but the sight finally snapped something within her. She felt all her repressed stress and despair well up within her and her knees went weak.

The Captain's eyes stung for a moment and then fat tears began to run down her face. She half-collapsed onto her desk, holding onto it for dear life as she sobbed for all she had lost. The horror of her discovery and the betrayals her flooded out of her, pouring down her cheeks in salty tears. She cried for the pain in her heart, for the wounds to her beloved ship and the piles of dead crew who had trusted her. She cried for the ideals she had always believed in, all now reduced to ashes. Family, freedom and the enlightened spirit of the Diasporex had been torn from her and she was powerless to change any of that.

Horroway put her face into her hands as great wracking sobs shuddered through her and she wept helplessly. She had no idea how long she knelt there, crying her heart out but time certainly passed until she had no more tears left to cry. As the tears dried up Horroway sat there, staring at her damp hands and feeling utterly lost and alone.

Horroway had not cried for decades and thought she would never do so again, but she was only human and the despair had been too much. Yet strangely she felt better for it, like she had spent her tears and was now able to see clearly. The Captain felt the tiniest stirring in her soul and the steel that had seen her rise to command emerged once more. "Dammit Janna," muttered Horroway, "You don't have time for this, get yourself back in the game."

Slowly Horroway pulled herself to her wobbly knees and staggered over to a small basin and mirror in the corner of the room. She spent a few minutes washing her face and wiping her eyes dry, it took several attempts to get the red out of her eyes and restore her customary stern visage. Finally she looked into the mirror and was satisfied that the person staring back at her resembled a confident Captain of a ship, someone who would never cry over anything.

Horroway returned to her desk and spent a moment tidying away the mess then sat down and glanced at a chronometer. She swore to herself over how long she had been lost in despair and hastily activated the comm-unit. The first word out of her mouth was a hoarse croak but she swallowed several times and managed to utter, "All senior officers report to the ready room." She settled back and composed herself, steeling her spirit and putting on a stern appearance. In a few minutes the door chimed and she opened it via a button to reveal her senior officers. They marched in and were joined by Numeta who appeared in a flash of light. Horroway suddenly remembered that she had not raised the privacy settings of her room but the Binaric being gave no indication that she had witnessed anything that had occurred.

When everyone was seated Horroway leaned forward and declared, "So this is the situation: Senator Acham has betrayed us, he plans to overthrow the Senate and lead the Diasporex to invade Imperial worlds. He thinks we have to become conquerors in order to survive."

"Acham?" D'ras asked, "But he is your blood kin, why would he try to kill us?"

"To silence us," Horroway explained with anger simmering in her tone, "He has the support of the Orreti, the Borlac and Scythians and maybe more. Yet he doesn't control the whole Senate, nor the populace. He has to be planning a coup and we are a threat to his ambition."

Robar wondered, "Acham is a well-known name, he has the respect of many. If he presents himself as a liberator, the people might just support him."

"Never," D'ras countered, "The Diasporex would never support a full-scale war."

"Maybe they should," Krang suddenly said drawing surprised glances from all.

"What?!" D'ras started in surprise.

"Hear me out," Krang said, "Maybe Acham has a point, the Diasporex might be better for having worlds under our control."

"You do realise those are Imperial worlds you are talking about," Robar growled.

"So?" Krang countered, "You're not Imperial anymore, what do we care for the Imperium?"

Horroway felt her anger rising but kept a tight rein upon it as she stated, "No, that won't work, it can't. The Diasporex is not suited for conquest; we don't understand what it takes to hold a planet against its will. Acham might overrun a few worlds but he could never hope to hold them. We would be beset by rebellions and insurrection, assuming we survived the Imperial reprisal. Acham's plan will doom us, not save us."

Numeta chose that moment to say, "So are we to do?"

Horroway sighed, "That depends on the status of the Bonaventure. How are repairs going?"

It was Robar's turn to sigh, "Badly, we've cleared most of the wreckage and managed to shore up the structural integrity but the hull armour is torn to shreds. Primary systems are being bodged back together with bonding tape and prayer while the back-ups are barely holding together under the strain. Shield generators are still off-line and it will be two more days before I can even try to test-start them."

Krang added, "Weapons are physically intact but bleeding power, we need to repair the capacitors before we can do anything with them."

"So how much can you repair?" Horroway asked.

Robar grimaced as he explained, "Without a drydock? Maybe seventy to eighty percent of total functionality, but to do that I'm going to have to empty our reserve stores and strip most of the redundancy from our systems. The armour I can patch up, but it won't withstand a sustained barrage."

"What about communications?" D'ras inquired, "If we could send a warning to the Senate they could stop Acham."

Robar shook his head and said, "The communications tower is gone, I can cobble together a short-ranged vox easily enough but the quantum-pulse beacons are smashed to pieces."

Horroway hissed aloud at that, even the limited array on the Bonaventure was a rare and exotic technology. She knew for a fact that there was nothing onboard that could replace those arcane devices. It was Numeta who said, "Could we risk a short warp-hop straight to the Mayflower's position?"

"How?" Robar exclaimed, "Reactors are at half-charge, we'd have to recharge off a Solar-collector array before even attempting such a feat."

Horroway blinked as the realisation hit her, she hadn't thought about that but it was true. The Diasporex relied upon portable devices that accumulated stellar material as a fuel source. The Bonaventure was far away from the star and reaching such a device would require them to avoid millions of Orks and Acham's forces, who must surely be looking for them. Without those devices the Bonaventure couldn't achieve a short Warp-flight, let alone leave this stellar system. Once the Mayflower departed they would be trapped here.

Krang spoke up then to say, "Face it we are alone out here, without a safe harbour or allies."

The words suddenly lit a spark in Horroway's mind and she exclaimed, "Wait… allies. That's it, we need allies."

Everybody paused for a moment then D'ras said, "Captain, what do you mean?"

Horroway sat up excitedly as hope bloomed within her and said, "There is another force in this system that would oppose Acham, one we know would do anything to stop an invasion of Imperial worlds. They would have to help us if we reached out for aid."

Krang glared and said, "Please tell me you aren't thinking about who I think you mean. They won't help us."

Horroway set her hands upon her desk and firmly declared, "They have to, protecting the Imperium is their entire reason for existing. Numeta, pull-up the recon-probe data and extrapolate an intercept course. Make ready people, we are going to recruit the Storm Heralds to our cause!"


	34. Chapter 34

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 34**

Reverent silence filled the chapel, an awed hush that sat heavily within the ears. Seventeen Astartes were drawn up in two lines facing each other, all standing ramrod still. Fat candles dribbled down bronzed stands, casting flickering shadows over the murals of the Emperor triumphant and a lectern which bore a weighty copy of the Codex Astartes. Serfs in hairshirts silently paced the chapel, swinging chasubles that streamed scented incense. Yet this was all secondary to the two squads of Storm Heralds, who confronted each other with silent stares.

Of course there was no such thing as true silence on a starship, the distant rumble of the engines being mixed with the echoing chants of crewmen singing ancient chanties as they laboured. Munition feeds rumbled and enginseers performed the sacred mysteries of their calling while the superstructure creaked and groaned as the Thunderchild made course corrections. Even here the hum of power armour and the sizzle of votive candles burning interrupted the quiet, but it did nothing to spoil the solemn atmosphere.

Chaplain Furion could see it all from where he was observing, standing upon a balcony overlooking the scene. Below him two Tactical squads were drawn up, glaring angrily at each other. Their helms were absent revealing angry faces and accusing stares but not one of them moved or uttered so much as a whisper. Furion approved of their self-control; even with this matter lying between them it was good to see their discipline held true. Then Cortha emerged, marching to stand directly between the two squads, his augmetic claw gleaming wickedly in the candlelight and the red jewel on the back blazing. Furion observed as his apprentice, no he corrected himself, the young Chaplain faced down the two squads, his skull-helm presenting a terrifying visage. Furion could have been standing in his place but had decided it was time for Cortha to truly lead. A Chaplain's duties were many and varied and Cortha needed to know he was trusted to manage such affairs.

The discipline of Astartes was legendary but at heart they were still men, tensions and divisions afflicted them as much as mortals. Most incidents in the ranks could be dealt with penances and stern chastisement but that was for obvious sins, sometimes issues could become much muddier than that. It was the Chaplains duty to ensure such matters were dealt with swiftly and surely, lest they fester and rot. The Storm Heralds knew all too well what could happen if such resentments were allowed to stew, the old Chaplaincy had failed utterly and participated in a shameful civil war. The new Chaplaincy had to be better than that and Furion was determined that the foundations would be laid right this time.

Furion attention was drawn back as Cortha declared aloud, "Brothers, I have come to decision. This matter has grown beyond the remit of simple penance or adjudication. The honour of both squads has been offended and so can only be addressed with blood. Therefore satisfaction can only be found in a ritual duel."

Both squads accepted the verdict and stepped back to reveal a wide golden circle inlaid on the marble floor. Cortha took up a position at the edge and cried, "Champions present yourselves."

From one side stepped forward a Marine with a lone strip of hair running over his head and he declared, "I am Delmarc, I shall fight for the pride of IVth squad!"

From the other a Marine with a scar bisecting his right eye stepped out and announced, "I am Horl, I fight for the honour of IInd squad!"

Cortha bade them both forward into the circle and declared, "In the sight of the Emperor shall you duel. Combat blades only, stay within the bounds of the circle and any other whom intervenes shall forfeit the victory. This duel is to the first shedding of blood, you shall begin… now."

The pair of warriors flung themselves at each other, snarling and bellowing threats as they hacked and stabbed with abandon. Knives scored over Ceramite plates as fists and knees flew freely at a rate no mortal could have tracked. Delmarc was the faster but Horl was older and more experienced so it was a fair match. Furion watched approvingly from the balcony, seeing the wisdom of Cortha's judgement. Both warriors were angry and aggrieved but via the ritual of the duel such resentments could be excised.

His observations were interrupted by a soft footfall and he half-turned in surprise to see Inquisitor Vevara approaching. He looked about for her escort and saw Brother Jediah hanging back at the chapel entrance, seemingly reluctant to follow. Furion looked over the lady Inquisitor, now dressed in a black bodyglove and a velvet cape, she wore her rosette openly on her breast, seemingly unconcerned by anybody knowing her true rank.

Vevara barely came up to Furion's waist but she looked confident as she ascended to the balcony and stood beside him. Furion was curious and enquired, "Inquisitor… what brings you here?"

Vevara didn't answer directly but asked instead, "What's this?"

Furion indulged the question and said, "A small dispute between Brothers is being resolved."

Vevara leaned over the balcony, watching the pair of Marines hacking and stabbing at each other and said, "This is what you call a little dispute?"

Wearily Furion explained, "There was an incident on the Hulk, these two squads were fighting together but became divided. IVth squad claim they were left alone to hold the rear-guard, IInd squad claim they saw a priceless opportunity to advance and took it."

"So who is in the right?" Vevara asked.

"In truth neither," Furion answered, "The vagaries of war are inherently unpredictable and unexpected opportunities arise in the heat of battle. Neither squad made a mistake as such, the Codex allowed for either choice to be made, but in the heat of the moment the squads were not as one and the Captain could not be reached. You look surprised, but know even Astartes are not perfect. Choices must be made in a heartbeat and not every Brother will agree on the right course. We are not Mechanicus creations, to march in lockstep with no free will."

Vevara stared at the battling pair and said, "And this justifies bloodshed?"

Furion sighed, "You know not the hearts of warriors, these Marines have been given cause to doubt their compatriots but through the duel such emotions will be excised. It is cathartic, allowing both sides the chance to prove themselves and test the other, forging a common bond of mutual respect. With every blow they learn of their comrades' strength and valour, every thrust proves their worth as true Storm Heralds."

Sure enough the duel ended as Delmarc tore his blade across Horl's arm, penetrating the ceramite to spill rich blood. Cortha stepped up and declared, "First blood! The duel is over with all honour and the victory goes to IVth squad. Let all give thanks and praise unto the Emperor for His judgement!"

Horl grinned and extended a hand saying, "Well fought lad, a clean win."

Delmarc took it wrist to wrist and said, "By the throne you're a hard one. You almost had my eye out, twice."

Suddenly the tension in the room evaporated as the squads came together laughing and applauding each other. Vevara however leaned back and remarked, "That's it? A drop of blood and suddenly all is forgiven?"

Furion frowned saying, "Honour is satisfied, what else is there?"

Vevara turned and stared up at Furion with a curious expression and muttered, "You Astartes are a strange breed, so mighty in some respects, so child-like in others."

Furion didn't care for her tone and changed the subject asking, "What of your own mission, are you satisfied?"

Vevara sighed loudly, "Hardly, I had hoped for something damning to bring down Zerban but there was nothing."

"He fled the battle," Furion pointed out, "The shame of cowardice hangs upon him."

Vevara shook her head saying, "Now it is you who doesn't understand. The Inquisition doesn't care for such concerns; power, reputation and leverage are all. Zerban will slither away from this yet again and none will raise so much as a finger against him. I can only hope he slips up sometime in the future and grants me an opportunity to end him."

"Hope is for fools and dreamers," Furion stated, "You need to make your own opportunity."

"Easier said than done," Vevara muttered.

Furion thought she looked talkative and took this moment to ask, "And the Carta Extremis?"

"I suppose you did enough," Vevara muttered, "I'll put it in abeyance, for now."

Furion knew exactly what that meant; Vevara was holding the threat over his Chapter. She wouldn't declare them Traitoris Excommunicatus but neither would she tear it up. It occurred to him that for her the potential threat was much more useful than the actual execution. As long as she had it the Storm Heralds would be at her beck and call, she would no doubt be back to plague them the next time she needed something.

Furion bit down on his response and tried to sound carefree as he commented, "I thought you were going to stay in your quarters."

"Hum?" Vevara replied distractedly, "Oh, I got bored and decided to stretch my legs; your guard was good enough to oblige me."

Now Furion did indeed blink in surprise and exclaim, "You got Jediah to agree to something… How? Nothing less than a direct order moves him."

"He's not so bad when you get to know him," Vevara commented, "He's a just big puppy really."

Furion's jaw dropped and he spluttered, "But he's… Jediah. I've seen him rip out a man's spine with his hands, he actually enjoys eating brains, he once charged a Greater Daemon and lived to tell the tale! How did you get him to budge?"

Vevara grinned and said, "It wasn't easy but when I threatened to tell everyone how he beat five Astartes single-handed he agreed to a stroll. He really doesn't want the truth getting out; he seems to like the aura of mystery it grants him. Besides he isn't violating any orders."

Furion was incredulous, he himself didn't know the exact specifics of that day, Jediah was surprisingly tight-lipped about it. Despite himself Furion asked, "How do you know the truth? How do you even know about that?"

"Curious I see," Vevara replied with a snarky grin, "Sorry but I am an Inquisitor, keeping secrets is what we do."

Furion let the matter lie but resolved to press Jediah later on. He drew in a breath and said, "We are five hours out from the Warp-Translation point, we will return to our Chapter and draw reinforcements to come back and cleanse this system of Orks once and for all. But first we will be returning you to Tectum. What will you do then?"

Vevara chewed on it for a moment and said, "I will continue my efforts to bring down Zerban. It will be quiet and subtle work, not suited for you lot at all. Rest assured I will be out of your hair… for a time."

Furion raised an eyebrow and inquired, "Why do you hate Zerban so?"

"Why do you?" Vevara countered, "We all have our histories and mine is not your concern."

Furion was about to press further but suddenly his vox squawked to life and Captain Toran's voice issued forth ordering, "Alert, all hands to action stations!" Alarms started wailing and the squads below dashed off as Furion opened his vox and called, "Captain, this is Chaplain Furion, what's the alarm?"

Toran responded quickly, "Furion, come to the bridge at once. We have an intruder closing fast."

Furion was instantly in motion, Vevara and Jediah trailing behind as he called, "More Orks?"

"No," Toran stated, "It's those alien-lovers, the Bonaventure is closing fast."

"The Diasporex," Furion spluttered in surprise, "What do they want?"

Toran replied, "Unknown but they are sending a weak Vox-hail, they request parley. I want you here for on the bridge for this."

"I'm on my way," Furion called as he doubled his pace.

Vevara was struggling to keep up, her merely human body pressed hard but she gasped between breaths, "I'm coming… with… you."

Furion's breathing was smooth and untroubled as he replied, "No you are not; go back to your quarters."

"Inquisitors…" Vevara wheezed, "Go where… we like. Now shut up… or you'll have to carry me."

"As you will," Furion responded, "Let us find out what these alien-lovers want. If the Emperor smiles upon us they may present us with an excuse to exterminate them once and for all."


	35. Chapter 35

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 35**

Vevara was gasping for air, her mortal lungs fit to burst at the strain. She looked weary and bone tired, her pallor sweaty and pale. Yet despite all that she managed to keep up, covering several miles and many decks at a flat out run. Furion could not help but be impressed; the Inquisitor had performed exceedingly well, by mortal standards. Naturally he had not been running at his maximum potential, no mortal could have kept up with that pace, but the woman had shown stamina that pushed the upper edges of human athleticism.

Ahead of them loomed the hatch to the bridge, surrounded by serf-guards who parted at the Chaplain's approach. Furion gave them no heed as he dashed within and made his way over to the Command Dias. Here he found Captain Toran, standing proudly as he gripped the rail and stared into the Hololith floating above them all. All around the bridge serfs and servitors laboured at their tasks, overseen by a few Storm Heralds. Furion was intrigued to notice that Techmarine Hevostan was pacing by the Sensorium station, jostling Persion out of the way.

There was one other present, Prefectus Sadik, the real clerk Vevara had suborned to her will. Furion gave him no mind, the man was a fossil with no power, in fact it was surprising he was allowed on the bridge at all. Furion stepped up to the Command Dias, as Vevara bent over a console and heaved for air and Brother Jediah marched to his post at the weaponry pews.

Furion paused at the foot of the Dias but was waved up by Toran. Once Furion would have been overseeing the helm crews but that was before he was made a Chaplain, now he was an officer and decorum had to be maintained. He glanced up at the Hololith and said, "What is the situation?"

Toran was staring at an icon in the Hololith and said, "One ship, the Bonaventure. We picked her up five light-minutes out, but she's coming on at a fast pace."

"One ship," Furion commented, "Why only one?"

"Unknown," Toran replied, "But they are signalling a weak request for parley."

Furion frowned and asked, "Haven't we already established vox contact?"

From the Sensorium Persion called up, "He did say it was weak, not a primary ship-to-ship transmission. I'd wager this is being broadcast from an emergency beacon that's been repurposed."

Furion looked at him and probed, "What makes you say that?"

"Just a hunch," Persion remarked.

Toran and Furion shared a significant glance; Persion was an expert signal-cracker a fact that more than made up for his casual attitude to vox-protocols. In matters of communications a hunch from him was as good as a signed affidavit from the Fabricator-General of Mars.

Behind the Dais there was a dry cough and Sadik interjected, "Captain, I urge caution. We only recently collected our cargo-ships from where they were hiding in deep-space. These intruders may be coming to attack our convoy, the cargo-ships must reach Tectum."

Vevara pushed herself off the console and red-faced wheezed, "He's right… the shipyards need that shipment. Nothing can be allowed to interfere with that."

Toran did a masterful job hiding his exasperation at civilian presumption over military matters as he explained, "That is only one Cruiser, all alone, no match for Astartes in battle. If they intended aggression they would have brought a fleet."

"He's right," Furion concurred, "Something else is going on here."

"That's not all," came the rich baritone of Hevostan, "That ship is in no state for prolonged conflict. The Machine-Spirits have analysed its silhouette and found evidence of recent combat."

"Show me," Toran commanded.

A smaller projection appeared next to the strategic Hololith, one that displayed a wireframe rendition of the Logic-engine's scans of the intruder. Furion peered upwards and instantly saw what the Techmarine meant, the Bonaventure was heavily damaged, her armour torn and shredded while long scars raked her flanks. Her dorsal tower was absent and large sections of her bulk looked dark and unpowered. Energy wave-forms were laid over the graphics and Furion noted her power emissions were erratic and her shields unstable and liable to collapse.

Furion mused aloud, "Could they have run into more Orks?"

"That's one possibility," Toran muttered, "But not the only one."

Suddenly Persion declared, "Contact, we have an active vox-link! Her commander requests a face-to-face conference."

Sadik suddenly interrupted to say, "The Administratum is against any contact with Xenos-lovers, they threaten our convoy!"

However Toran completely ignored him by ordering, "Put her on."

There was a moment's pause and then a small pedestal next to the Dias flared to project an image of the other ship's Captain, who was sitting in a large chair. Janna Horroway looked dishevelled and tired, like she hadn't slept in days and Furion saw signs of tension writ upon her. The image was crackling and weak, running in fits and starts but he could hear her clearly as she cried, "Contact at last, thank the stars!"

Toran faced her squarely and said, "Captain Horroway, I commend your skill on finding us in deep space but I will know for what purpose you approach our vessel."

Frantically Horroway gasped, "I need your help!"

Furion was not amused by her presumption and growled, "You seem to be under the delusion that we are allies, when we are not. You consort with Xenos scum and our cooperation ended with the Ork threat."

Horroway shook her head and cried, "You don't understand, I have uncovered the real threat to your Imperium. The Orks were nothing, the real threat is Acham, he plans to invade your worlds!"

Vevara stepped up and declared, "What? How is this possible?"

Horroway exclaimed, "The Diasporex is being overtaken by a coup, he wants to use your weapons to overthrow our leaders and then turn us against you!"

"Slow down," Toran stated firmly, "Start at the beginning and explain this clearly."

Horroway took a moment to centre herself then articulated, "Those cargo-pods you gave us were not filled with ship parts but weapons. A faction of the Diasporex plans to take them and use them against you. A Senator called Acham is behind it, he conspires with Inquisitor Zerban."

"Zerban!" Toran exclaimed, "That devious snake, I knew he was up to something."

Furion too was enraged and growled, "First he conspires to kill our Chapter Master and now this. His duplicity knows no bounds."

Eagerly Horroway exclaimed, "It's not too late, together we can stop them."

Toran glared at her and said, "You presume much, why would we help you?"

Horroway started and uttered, "Your Imperium will suffer if we don't work together."

Furion interrupted to say, "What we mean is: why would we work with you instead of wiping your kind out entirely for this affront?"

Horroway seemed stricken as she pleaded, "It's not the whole Diasporex, we would never embrace full-scale war. This is one madman's insane plan, he's rounded up a few malcontents and troublemakers but the majority of our people mean you no harm. We only need to stop one man, not the whole Diasporex."

Toran looked suspicious and inquired, "Why don't you do it?"

Horroway looked down and confessed, "Acham knew we had exposed him, he sent ships of the other races against us, we barely fought free. We have had no contact with anyone else."

Furion felt a surge of righteous vindication hearing that and declared aloud for all to hear, "You put your trust in that which is alien and have suffered the inevitable consequences for your foolishness. Once more the Emperor is proven correct, even after ten thousand years His wisdom is irrefutable. Aliens cannot be trusted, He declared, they are treacherous and deceitful by nature. Only humanity is worthy of survival in this galaxy."

Horroway glared at him and snapped, "A smug lecture is really not what I needed to hear right now."

Toran diplomatically changed the subject and said, "What exactly do you want from us?"

Horroway breathed deeply to regain her composure and said, "I want you to come with me, to help me break through the Mayflower's defensive fleet and reach Acham. We have to eliminate him and his supporters before they can enact their plan."

Furion was surprised by that and said, "You want to help us kill your associate aliens?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," Horroway stated, "But… yes."

Toran muttered, "Two ships against a fleet, that will be challenging."

Horroway looked eager and she said, "It's not the whole fleet, I can't believe Acham has turned every Captain to his cause. I would have heard of it."

Furion was suspicious of her confidence and inquired, "Is that a fact or an assumption?"

Horroway swallowed but confessed, "I can only assume… but together…"

Sudden Sadik's voice interrupted, "I protest! The convoy is not yet delivered to Tectum, those ships must be protected!"

Toran cut him off saying, "We are almost to the Warp-translation point, the cargo ships will be perfectly safe once they are in the Immaterium."

From the Sensorium Persion murmured, "That's the first time I've ever heard anyone call the Warp 'Safe'."

Furion overrode him declaring, "There is nothing we could do to protect them in the Warp. Once they leave this system our duty is discharged, leaving us free to confront other threats."

At that Horroway eagerly pressed, "So you're agreeing to help us?"

Toran grinned, "Captain, you had me at 'Kill the Aliens'."

Horroway's eyes narrowed and she said, "Only the conspirators; don't kill all of them."

Furion cut in, "Then you had better warn them that any Xeno who fires upon this ship will be counted an enemy."

Suddenly Vevara's voice arose as she proclaimed, "Not so fast! The Inquisition does not approve of this."

Furion turned at her temerity and growled, "Perhaps you do not understand the situation."

"Oh I understand," Vevara replied, "But there is another matter that takes priority: Zerban has finally gone too far. He must not be allowed to escape."

Furion raised an eyebrow and said, "I thought you had no proof to use against him."

Vevara turned to the Hololithic projection and asked, "Horroway, do you testify on this record that Inquisitor Zerban has supplied weapons to the enemies of the God-Emperor?"

Horroway blinked and said, "Errr… yes I do."

Vevara smiled and said, "That's more than enough to convict him. Zerban has aided and abetted the enemies of the Imperium, this cannot be allowed to go unpunished. By the authority of the Inquisition I hereby declare Zerban to be Extremis Diabolicus and I demand that the Traitor is hunted down and executed forthwith."

Furion shook his head and said, "We don't have time for this."

Yet Horroway glanced out of the line of sight and commented, "Actually the Bonaventure could use a few more days to effect repairs. We have the Fortune's Fool's last heading and our fleet won't be ready to leave this system for a while yet anyway."

Vevara added, "Think of it this way, two ships against the whole Diasporex fleet are poor odds, three would be better. If I could sway Saffor to our cause he might add the Fortune's Fool to our forces."

"You could do that?" asked Toran.

Vevara shrugged as she remarked, "I saw the way his eyes lingered: he wants me."

"To do what?" Toran inquired innocently making Furion sigh, his Brother Space Marines had a rather curious blind spot when it came to matters between men and women. Furion stepped in hastily and said, "I think she does possess the means to sway Saffor, I am confident he won't say no to her."

Toran looked unsure why Furion was supporting the Inquisitor but then the Chaplain had been over two hundred years old when the Captain was born, he knew a thing or two about the galaxy that younger Astartes didn't. However it was Sadik who stepped up and said, "This is folly, Zerban will not stand idly by while you hunt him down and execute him."

Vevara grimaced and as she said, "I hate to admit it but he's right, Zerban will see us coming before we get within an astronomical unit of him."

Now Toran did smile widely and Furion saw the amusement in his lone eye as the Captain replied, "It seems your information on us is not as complete as you assume. The Thunderchild has capabilities most starships do not. Tell me Inquisitor, do you know what Reflex Shields are?"


	36. Chapter 36

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 36**

The deck was rumbling again, that unique vibration caused by the engine's many refits. Normally the feeling comforted him but not today. Saffor was in no mood for comfort today, he only wanted to wallow in his misery. The Rogue Trader was standing in an observation bay, watching the stars wheel as the Fortune's Fool turned and rolled in its course corrections.

Saffor's lips curled in disgust for the ship was making far too many adjustments and wasting precious time on lazy manoeuvres. They were wallowing out of this system, taking an age to reach the Warp-translation point. It was sloppy and unlovely voids-manship, one that would have earned his wrath had he been on the bridge, but sadly he wasn't. Saffor's ship had been taken over by that wretched Inquisitor Zerban, not just his bodyguard but the majority of his crew had defected to serve under that conniving backstabber. Saffor's kin commanding the escort frigates had also gone over to the Inquisitor. Zerban must have been subverting loyalties non-stop since the moment he came on board and he had done it right under the Rogue Trader's nose. Saffor had compiled a list of his treacherous cousins and he was already thinking up prolonged and painful tortures for them in the future.

The thought made Saffor's lip curl, he had known Zerban was a treacherous viper when he had first been approached but against his better instincts had allowed the Inquisitor on board. It wasn't like he had seen any other options, not when Zerban held his family's secret over him. Yet Saffor had assumed it would be a swift and abrupt affair, that the Inquisitor would get what he wanted and then leave. Zerban however had been scheming other plans and now it looked like he intended to keep the Teliday family under his thumb indefinitely. Never turn your back on an Inquisitor; Saffor's father had repeatedly warned him, the only ones worse than the idiot zealots amongst them are the smart zealots.

Saffor rubbed his face wearily and glanced at the bottle laying unopened beside him. He had thought to come here and wallow in his misery by getting drunk, but he had not touched it. To stew in a pathetic stupor would be to admit defeat and Saffor wasn't quite ready for that yet. He was down but not out, he told himself. There had to be a way to turn this around, to take back his ship and crew from the Inquisitor, he just couldn't see it yet. Of course he could try shooting Zerban but the devious snake had surrounded himself with suborned crewmen.

Mutinous scum, Saffor thought, he had been good to them and always shared out the profits fairly, half for the Rogue Trader, half split up among the crew as was traditional. Then he snorted in amusement at his own joke, expecting honour from void-dogs like them was like expecting a scorpion not to sting. They would follow the highest bidder; if Zerban offered more they wouldn't hesitate to back him, hell, were the situation different he might have done the same himself.

The thought made Saffor's mind stir and he mused upon the notion, he still had vast wealth at his disposal, maybe he could turn this around. Then he remembered Kreg and the thought made him screw up his fists. The Ogryn bodyguard was Zerban's creature now, no amount of wealth could change that. Saffor had inherited Kreg from his late father and had never even considered his loyalty, Kreg had been as part of the furniture, always there and dependable. The idea that someone could override his augmetic implants was a notion Saffor had never even considered but now that ferocious strength lay with Zerban.

For a time Saffor pondered these issues but he hadn't survived a perilous childhood by letting himself become distracted, so when he heard a scrape at the hatch he spun about with lightning speed and drew his shuriken pistols. He was surprised to see a crewman standing there, hurriedly throwing up his grease-stained hands in panic as he yelled, "Don't shoot!"

Saffor eyed the man warily, taking in his worn boots and torn overalls and calloused hands from hard labour. He dredged the recesses of his mind then ventured, "Crewman… Durr?"

"Murr, if you please Skipper, petty officer Murr," the man replied.

Saffor brushed off the correction and kept his pistols raised as he said, "You should take more care, I might have put a round between your eyes."

Murr bobbed slightly in fear and pleaded, "Don't do that Skipper, I'm here to help you."

Saffor wasn't about to lower his guard and hissed, "Why would you do that?"

Murr swallowed nervously and then explained, "Not all the crew's happy with that slimy weasel poncing about the bridge. We remember our Skipper, you were always good to us and lots of us have reasons to keep far away from the Inquisition, if you know what I mean."

Saffor lowered his pistols but didn't holster them as he probed, "So Zerban isn't in control of everything, how many of the crew are loyal to their lord?"

Murr's face fell and he said, "Not enough to take back the ship if that's what you're thinking."

"Damn," Saffor cursed, "So what can we do?"

Murr hesitantly reached into a pocket, making Saffor's grip on his pistols tighten but all he produced was a small vox-unit. The man stepped closer but Saffor waved him to place it on the ground between them and said, "What's that?"

Murr stepped back and said, "I picked up an odd vox-signal, very cunning it was, not meant to trip any alarms. Someone was trying to sneak in a private vox-link, without alerting the bridge, but I caught it. They weren't half surprised when I answered; she said she wants to talk to you."

"She?" asked Saffor warily, but Murr only shrugged in ignorance. Intrigued Saffor stepped up and holstered one pistol before he picked up the vox-unit and said, "Whoever you are you better have a good reason for this."

A feminine voice emerged calling, "Teliday, is that you?"

Saffor never forgot a lady's voice and he instantly recognised the alluring tones of Lady Vevara. The Rogue Trader started in surprise and said, "What are you doing on this link?"

The lady's voice came back earnestly, "I was trying to reach you."

Saffor's curiosity was peaked and he asked, "How are you doing this?"

"It's an old Inquisition trick," Vevara replied smoothly.

"Inquisition?" Murr muttered but Saffor ignored the remark, his mind suddenly awhirl with intriguing possibilities. The lady was an Inquisitor, he realised, but one hiding her rank. He had seen enough of the galaxy to understand that the only people Inquisitors hated more than heretics were other Inquisitors. Give them a choice between shooting an enemy or stabbing a rival in the back and there wouldn't even be time to place bets on the outcome before blood was spilled. If two Inquisitors were sneaking around each other then it was patently obvious that one of them was going to end up dead. Which suited Saffor just fine.

Saffor grinned and remarked, "My lady, you are full of delightful surprises."

"More than you know," Vevara voice issued out of the device, "I contacted you first, to have a quiet chat about our mutual acquaintance."

Saffor holstered his remaining pistol and he laughed, "You mean; to find out which side I'm on. Worry not on that account, I want that snake Zerban dead too."

"You do?" Vevara inquired sounding surprised.

"He stole my ship and crew out from under me," Saffor explained, "If you want him dead then I'm happy to oblige."

Vevara was silent for a moment then said, "And here I had a whole enticing speech prepared, to lure you to my cause. It was going to be a thing of beauty, talk of adventure and riches and glory. You are a most intriguing man Saffor but do I find this all rather easy, how do I know I can trust you?"

The Rogue Trader noted the flattery and subtle seduction, he filed that away for later consideration but for now contented himself with saying, "If you had any other options, you wouldn't be contacting me."

There was a long pause and then Vevara's voice said, "You see right through me. It seems I have no choice but to trust you."

"Wonderful," Saffor replied, "Unfortunately I have a problem of my own, Zerban has seized control here. He owns the bridge and all primary systems, getting to him will not be easy."

Vevara commented, "I have a hundred vengeful Astartes at my beck and call. Each and every one eager to sharpen their knives on Zerban's bones."

Saffor shuddered at the thought of a marauding horde of Transhumans rampaging through the bowels of his beloved ship. He had seen the damage they could wreck and wasn't prepared to let his prized vessel be torn to shreds. He sighed aloud and said, "Unfortunately they won't get close enough, the second Zerban sees that ugly scow of theirs he will make the jump into Warp-space, safe translation be damned."

Vevara sounded amused as she replied, "Trust me he won't see us coming, we are already closer than he knows."

Despite the ludicrousness of expecting to see anything at void-ranges Saffor's eyes went to the armourglass window. Naturally only stars glinted back at him but he still asked, "How is that possible?"

"Never mind that," Vevara stated, "All I need is a way to sneak on board without being noticed."

"Give me a moment," Saffor commented then stared at Murr invitingly.

The petty officer sucked on his teeth and said, "Well… if they have a shuttle small enough I could get a few of the lads to trick the Machine Spirits for a moment and the deck chief of landing bay four owes me a few favours."

"Get to it," Saffor commanded then added, "Tell the men the rewards for aiding me will be lavish and if you stick by me I'll promote you to my own bridge crew Murr, with all the perks that come with high rank."

The man leapt to obey with an avaricious gleam in his eye and Saffor returned his attention to the vox-unit saying, "I can sneak over a party but only a small one, the smaller the better, this will have to done quickly and quietly."

"That I can do," Vevara replied, "I'll bring an escort and once I'm on board we can find a way to reach Zerban."

Saffor was excited by the idea of seeing the wretched man brought to an end and said, "Send a shuttle to the port-side bay on the lower stern quarter. I can have the hanger opened for you, without Zerban ever becoming aware."

"Very well," Vevara stated but then followed that up with a threat, "But if you double-cross me I shall make sure the Astartes hunt you down to the ends of the galaxy."

Saffor grinned at that, this woman was as dangerous as she was intriguing and he replied, "Dear lady, I could never deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing your smile."

"Flatterer," Vevara snorted and then cut the link.

With that Saffor tucked the vox-link into his belt and smiled warmly. Only a few minutes earlier he had been morose and sullen but now his prospects were looking up. He glanced out of the armourglass portal but could see nothing, whatever the lady Inquisitor had planned it was certainly a good trick. He pondered on what he would do when she got here but then decided not to waste time on elaborate plans, he would just have to wing it.

Saffor decided it was time to get in position and strode towards the observation's bay door with an eager skip, yet he was brought up short when a shadow emerged from around the corner to loom in his path. Saffor ground to a halt and his breath caught in his throat as he saw the most unwelcome sight possible: Inquisitor Zerban, clad in his matt-black power armour. The Inquisitor's scarred visage was a vision of wrath brought to life and his angry expression was fixed firmly upon the Rogue Trader. One glance was enough to still all Saffor's retorts and explanations, the anger a clear announcement of the Inquisitor's intent. Zerban knew, Saffor realised, somehow he had been expecting a double-cross and had anticipated the Rogue Trader's moves before he had even made them.

Zerban glowered at Saffor and his eyes narrowed fiercely as he spat, "If you're going to use an old Inquisition trick, you really should check that no old Inquisitors are listening in."


	37. Chapter 37

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 37**

Inquisitor Zerban stood stock still, anger and indignation pouring off him. The old man was a terrifying sight in his matt-black power armour which was covered in Inquisitorial sigils and at his belt he bore a fat-barrelled plasma pistol and a wicked power knife. If anything his expression was more frightening, a visage of judgement and wrath all aimed at the errant Rogue Trader. Saffor saw that Zerban's rage was about to erupt, a devastating explosion of condemnation that would grind the Rogue Trader into a humiliating stupor.

Zerban opened his mouth to pronounce his verdict upon the man who had betrayed him but Saffor had other ideas. Barely had the Inquisitor's lips managed to form the word "You" when Saffor was diving to one side in a blur of unexpected movement. Saffor's hands twitched and his pistols were in his grip, the smoothly textured wraithbone settling into his palms with their familiar warmth. Shuriken pistols were Eldar devices, far more advanced and sophisticated than crude human engineering. They did not use primitive chemical propellants or rudimentary las-bolts but rather precise gravimetric impellers. The ammunition was a solid block of plastek-crystal, shaved off a few nanometers at a time to create serrated disc projectiles that moved with unthinkable velocity. Saffor had spent a small fortune acquiring these pair and in his opinion they had been worth every credit.

Saffor's fingers feathered the triggers and the pistol's gravimetric impellors awoke to spit death at eye-watering speed, the recoil being as smooth as a virgin's thighs. Monomolecular discs erupted out of the fluted barrels of the pistols, making the air hiss with their hypersonic passage. Saffor practised with these weapons every day and at short ranges his accuracy rivalled an Imperial Stormtrooper's. He knew Zerban was clad in thick power armour but he had foolishly left his head exposed and Saffor sent a dozen discs straight at his scarred face. The Inquisitor was caught off-guard but there was nothing wrong with his reflexes, even as Saffor began to move his arm was rising to place a ceramite-clad forearm across his face. The spinning discs impacted the armour and embedded themselves in the plate, sticking out like splinters of crystal light from the dark material. Zerban was unharmed by the barrage but his wrath was incandescent and with a snarl of anger he pulled free his plasma pistol.

As he hit the floor and rolled Saffor heard the distinctive thrum of fuel cells charging and grinned to himself. He had made a study of weapons of many types and instantly grasped that Zerban had not expected him to make a fight of this. A plasma pistol was a lethal weapon, able to burn through thick armour with contemptuous ease but its rate of fire was low and it took precious seconds to charge. Saffor reckoned that against a lightly armoured opponent, like him, the Inquisitor would have been better off bringing a las-pistol or even a basic stubber.

Zerban pointed his weapon at the Rogue Trader but Saffor was already in motion, rising to his feet and racing off to one side. Zerban tracked him and then squeezed the trigger but Saffor had been expecting that and at the last instant he reversed direction and threw himself backwards. There was a flash of searing bright light and Saffor felt his skin tingle as the magnetically contained bolt of plasma flew past him, impacting the wall beyond. The plasteel melted under the blast, running like molten wax as the inconceivable heat reduced it to slag.

Zerban snarled in anger and stomped forward brandishing his power knife but Saffor wasn't stupid enough to stand up to someone in power armour, not when the plasma pistol would take precious seconds to recharge. The Rogue Trader sent another burst of shuriken discs at the Inquisitor's face, which was deflected off a raised arm and in that second of distraction he ran towards the door and dashed out into the corridor.

Saffor had been half-expecting Zerban to have back up and he wasn't disappointed when he found himself confronted by a dozen armsmen, all clad in thick leathers and carapace breastplates. They must have been preparing to storm forward and help the Inquisitor, for they clearly were not expecting the Rogue Trader to emerge so unexpectedly. They gaped stupidly for a heartbeat and then began to bring up blunt shotguns but Saffor's reactions were quicker.

The Rogue Trader's fingers twitched and his pistols discharged with their smooth hiss. There was an art to Shuriken fighting, the lightest touch enough to send out a deadly burst, but if one held too firmly then the weapons would exhaust their ammunition in one overwhelming barrage of utter carnage. Saffor employed this now, squeezing the triggers hard as he swept the pistols back and forth. He didn't even really need to aim; the pistols simply filled the air with spinning death. A hurricane of lethal discs spat forth, tearing into the shocked armsmen. Carapace armour stopped a few rounds but the rest of the projectiles tore into the helpless men without even being slowed. Faces crumpled inwards and limbs were neatly severed while throats were torn open and arteries ruptured as the Eldar weaponry did its lethal work. In moments the squad of men had been reduced to steaming offal, a disgusting pile of bleeding flesh comprised of broken and dying men.

Saffor wasted not a moment to look at them, not least because he might recognise a few. Instead he leapt over the bodies and dashed down the corridor, running for all he was worth. He had barely taken a few steps when he heard the solid clump of armoured boots on the deck and the distinct whine of a plasma gun reaching full charge. Saffor glimpsed a side passage opening up before him and threw himself down it with desperate haste just as a shining bolt of plasma flew past him. A voice cried something after him but he wasted not a moment as he put his head down and ran. His boots hit the deck over and over as his coat whipped around him and his long braid snapped back and forth, everything he wore designed to be elegant but not restrictive. His breathing was fast but not laboured for he spent time everyday training and fighting, once more he was grateful that he had never let indolence overcome him.

Saffor heard no more boots behind him but he did not pause in his flight, running for all he was worth. He had covered perhaps a mile already but he knew Zerban commanded the ship, all he had to do was vox ahead and more foes would be on their way. Saffor had to get to shuttle bay four; he had to let Vevara in and pray that her escorts would be enough. Perhaps he should have let her bring the Space Marines en-masse, he thought, collateral damage be damned.

Saffor ran and ran towards his goal, letting no doubts or fears slow him down. He did not know what he would find when he arrived but resolved to deal with the situation once he got there. All he could worry about now was arriving in one piece. Just as Saffor's breath was becoming laboured and spikes of pain began shooting up his shins he spied a cargo elevator ahead, open and inviting. Without a second's thought he skidded inside and pulled down the wire mesh then jammed the control lever firmly downwards. With a jerk the lift began to descend and Saffor took a moment to catch his breath.

He realised he was still holding his pistols and hurriedly ejected their spent magazines, replacing them with solid blocks of crystal-plastek from his belt. Last ones he thought, better be sparing with the ammunition. He wondered how far ahead of Zerban he had got and if it would be enough, then he cursed himself for a fool. Instantly Saffor reached out and grabbed the control lever and brought the lift to a juddering halt. Damn it, he thought, Zerban must know where he was headed, it was almost certainly a trap.

Saffor saw he was a couple of decks above the bay and decided to alight here. He crept out, pistols raised and peered about, but nobody was to be seen. Saffor spent a moment considering fleeing into the bowels of his ship but dismissed the notion. The Inquisitor would run him down sooner or later, he had to reach the shuttle bay somehow or he was a dead man. He leapt into motion, running down the corridor, pressing himself hard to keep going no matter what.

Thankfully no more armsmen emerged to confront him and after a few minutes Saffor saw a ladder ahead, a simple maintenance accessway. He practically leapt at it, sheathing his pistols and grabbing the sides with his palms and boots. He promptly slid down the ladder, dropping two decks in seconds before jumping off. He drew his pistols again and took stock, surveying his surroundings with a keen eye. Saffor realised he had emerged over the very landing bay he had sought, arriving on a metal catwalk suspended over the hanger. As with all starship hangers it was immense, with room for dozens of shuttles and all the equipment required to service them. There were landers and cargo-haulers lined up in neat rows mixed with servitor loaders and pallets of tools and parts. It was also the scene of a battle, knots of crewmen ducking into cover as shotguns blasted to and fro in a thunderous din.

Saffor realised that Zerban had sent word ahead and tried to seize the bay but it looked like Murr's loyalists had decided to fight back. They were hunkered down behind their pallets and boxes, laying down a crossfire to catch anyone who tried to advance. Saffor scanned the room one more time and was satisfied that they could hold their ground for now but there was a complication, the hanger doors were still closed. Saffor grimaced as he realised nobody could reach the controls, a large pedestal set off to one side of the hanger. Yet the situation was not beyond hopeless, for in the bedlam nobody had seen him arrive.

Hurriedly Saffor made his way along the catwalk until he was right over the pedestal, then he sheathed his weapons and climbed over the rail. He sat on the metal bar for a heartbeat, staring downward and felt his palms tingling with vertigo as he considered the drop. It was a long way down, not enough to be fatal but enough to cripple him if he landed wrong. Saffor felt the icy grip of fear clutch his heart but knew from experience that looking at it would only make it worse, so he simply leapt.

The air whistled past him and he felt his arms and legs trying to stiffen up but he forced himself to flex as the deck surged up at him. His boots touched the ground and his legs slammed painfully up into his chest as he bent at the knees, rolling over to dissipate his momentum. The shock felt like it was going to rip him apart but he kept rolling and came up right where he wanted to be, behind the pedestal. Shotguns turned his way but he moved fast, grabbing the biggest lever and hauling it upwards before diving behind the pedestal for cover. Instantly hazard lights began to flash overhead and Saffor grinned as the thick exterior door began to rise upwards, the glimmer of an atmospheric shield visible beyond. The Rogue Trader was elated by the sight, he had done it, the way was open for his reinforcements to arrive. He just had to hold this position until they got here.

His self-congratulations were cut short however when he heard a deep roar from behind him. He leaned out of cover slightly and his jaw dropped as he spied what was occurring. On the far side of the bay more armsmen were pouring into the hanger, overrunning Murr's gang with sheer numbers. Shotguns blasted and screams arose as the crewmen were overrun and executed one-by-one.

Yet what truly drew his eye was the hated sight of Zerban striding into the room, now with a helmet firmly attached to his armour. One step behind him came the looming presence of Kreg, his former Ogryn bodyguard now utterly loyal to the Inquisitor. They were marching slowly forward behind the fresh armsmen, peering about and Saffor realised they were looking for him. The truth was inescapable; once they found him they would tear him to bits.


	38. Chapter 38

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 38**

The blast nearly took his head off, a wide spread of pellets fired from some random shotgun. Saffor only managed to avoid being killed by frantically dropping back behind the pedestal, letting the bulk of it take the brunt of the blast. He flinched as the deck around him was sprayed with pellets, several of them coming dangerously close to his legs but he managed to stay alive regardless. Death was inches away but only one thought was in Saffor's head, the armsman would require a moment to steady his aim.

Instantly Saffor sprung up and brushed his fingers over the triggers of his pistols, sending out a burst of spinning discs. His aim was hasty and owed more to luck than skill but fortune smiled upon him and a single disc took the man in the forehead, slicing his skull clean open. Saffor dropped down again instantly but the scene was already imprinted on his mind's eye. All around squads of armsmen were advancing, crushing any resistance with overwhelming firepower. Murr's gang were fighting back with shotguns and autopistols of their own, but they were deck-hands not soldiers, they couldn't hold back the tide of advancing foes. Yet Saffor's more immediate concern was that he had lost sight of Zerban and Kreg, the most dangerous foes around and he didn't have an eye upon them.

Saffor glanced at the atmospheric shield but saw nothing, no sign of an oncoming shuttle. "Dammit, come on, how long does it take?" the Rogue Trader muttered but there was no reply forthcoming. Suddenly Saffor heard an immense roar from behind him and instinct forced his legs into motion before he even had time to process it. The reflex action saved his life as the pedestal he had been sheltering behind was torn from the deck, ripped free in a shower of sparks by colossal strength.

It was Kreg, the slab-muscled Ogryn bellowing in mad fury as he tossed the heavy pedestal aside like it was an empty crate. Saffor hurriedly backed away but the Ogyrn followed, his cranial implants blinking with red-lights as they forced the abhuman into a bestial fury. Kreg stomped forward, swinging his fists wildly, each one twice the size of Saffor's skull. The Rogue Trader was forced to retreat; hastily falling back for a single blow would surely tear his head off.

Two paces behind the Ogyrn came the hated sight of Zerban, the Inquisitor stomping forward in his power armour, trying to aim his plasma pistol around Kreg's bulk. Saffor kept backing off, trying to keep the Ogryn between them, but in doing so he placed himself right in the path of Kreg's charge. Saffor was forced to duck as a fist whooshed over his head, the wind snapping over his neck, telling him how close he had come to death.

Incensed Saffor rose up and feathered his pistols, sending out sprays of discs but they only managed to cut shallow grooves into Kreg's skin, the Ogyrn's hide tougher than carapace armour. Saffor grimaced and raised his aim, sending another burst at Kreg's eyes and this time it was enough to make the Ogyrn flinch. Instantly the Rogue Trader turned and dashed away, he had no plan as to where he was going, but anywhere was better than here.

He felt an icy finger crawl up his neck at the thought that Zerban had a clear shot at his back but the Inquisitor seemed to have been caught by surprise and he missed his moment. Saffor flung himself under an Aquila shuttle and rolled over and over before rising on the other side. His head snapped up and he saw a mad melee before him, crewmen and armsmen wrestling furiously for supremacy, but it was clear which side was winning.

Saffor took off again, dodging fights and jumping over corpses. His heart was hammering in his chest and the hard spike of adrenaline was burning through him, his flight was buying him seconds of precious life but he couldn't keep it up for long. Then Saffor skidded around a blank-eyed servitor lifter and found himself confronted by a corpse, one he recognised. It was Murr, staring blankly at the ceiling as blood puddled around his ruined chest.

"Damnation," Saffor hissed as he saw the fate of his helper and the sight made him freeze for a heartbeat. It was a perilous mistake for at that moment an immense roar erupted and Saffor's head snapped round to see Kreg looming over him, the Ogyrn's huge fists raised in readiness to crush him utterly.

Saffor had always boasted he was not afraid of death, but in that moment he saw his fate writ large and a primal instinct screamed within him that he didn't want to die. Not now, not ever. He wanted to live more than anything but there was nothing he could do to avert his doom. Luck had abandoned him at last and his gambles had finally failed to pay off.

Saffor could only watch as Kreg's fists began to fall with infinite slowness but at the last instant something made the Abhuman pause. The Ogryn's thick jaw dropped in surprise and his eyes went wide, staring not at the Rogue Trader but at something beyond, something outside the atmospheric shield.

Saffor didn't even have time to blink before something smashed through the energy barrier separating the hanger bay from the cruel vacuum of space. It was a gunship, with a blunt armoured prow, downswept wings and a turret on top. It was brutality writ into plasteel and ceramite, it was aggression made fact and it was travelling fast, far too fast to attempt a proper landing.

Saffor ducked as an instant gale blew out from its passage, the cold of space and the heat of its engines both washing over him simultaneously. He hit the deck hard and felt something tear in his left shoulder but he looked up just in time to see the gunship slam onto the floor so hard its landing claws made grooves in the metal. Its wing clipped a cargo-hauler and crumpled, spinning it around to point back the way it came as it ground to a halt in a plume of smoke and sparks.

Before it had even stopped moving the ramp on its front slammed down and Saffor gasped as something terrifying emerged. It was a Space Marine, clad in jagged black armour and a grinning skull-helm, bearing a weighty golden mace in one fist. Saffor couldn't believe it, they had just crash landed into a hostile warzone yet the giant emerged with a speed and ferocity that made the destruction pale in comparison.

The huge Transhuman leapt out of the gunship in one mighty bound and tackled Kreg off his feet with a roar of righteous outrage. Saffor had seen the Ogyrn lift ground-cabs and break plasteel with his bare hands but the Space Marine bowled him over like he was nothing. Fists flew and roars of anger arose as the pair fell upon each other and Saffor couldn't tell which one was more brutal.

Yet the spectacle wasn't over, for three more Space Marines emerged from the smoking gunship to leap into the fray. Saffor had never actually witnessed Astartes at war and the sight took his breath away. First came a Marine with a shining sword and hefty shield that he used as much as his blade, smashing skulls and breaking limbs with smooth élan. His movements were crisp and elegant but still utterly deadly, reaping armsmen like they were mere chaff. Behind him came another Astartes, with a burning axe held in an augmetic arm. He was far more direct, hacking and smashing his way forward like a grox through a wheat field, leaving a trail of cauterised enemies behind. Lastly came a swift Space Marine with a gleaming short-sword, he was far more intimate in his killing, ending men up close and personal, yet his tally was no less for it.

It was staggering to behold, a moment earlier the armsmen had stood upon the cusp of victory, now they were being cut to ribbons. A handful of Space Marines were systematically taking them to pieces, annihilating them with contemptuous disdain. Nothing could stop them, nothing was even slowing them down, they moved wherever they willed and death followed in their wake. If this is what a handful of Space Marines can do, Saffor thought, what kind of destruction could a whole Company unleash?

Suddenly a shadow fell over Saffor and he raised his pistol in his good arm but what he beheld made him pause. It was the lady Vevara, with a bulky Xenos deathlock pistol in her hand and wearing a tight bodyglove, one that in other circumstances would have caught Saffor's complete attention. Vevara glanced down and said, "Zerban, where is Zerban?"

Saffor staggered upright and answered, "Don't know, I lost him in the melee."

"Warp hells," Vevara spat angrily, "Find him, he can't get away."

Saffor began edging around the battle but remarked, "Good timing, bad landing."

Vevara followed him warily as she commented, "Speed seemed more important than grace."

Saffor glanced at the embattled Space Marines, who had already slaughtered half the armsmen and asked, "How did they know to target Zerban's men?"

"They didn't," Vevara snapped, "I just told them to kill anybody who wasn't you."

"Errr… my thanks," Saffor said dumbfounded by her ruthlessness but then Vevara spied something and dashed forward, pistol raised.

Saffor saw the unmistakeable sight of Zerban, fleeing as fast as his power armour would let him. Vevara raced after him and sent a ravening beam of purple energy after the fleeing Inquisitor as she shouted, "Zerban! I name thee Extremis Diabolus!" The wild shot hit the wall above Zerban's head, sending showers of sparks flying and causing him to turn around. The Inquisitor's plasma pistol came up and the firing chamber flared incandescently as it prepared to fire. Saffor swore to himself and hurled his bulk into Vevara, sending them sideways a second before a blast of plasma hurtled by.

Saffor sent a spray of discs at the Inquisitor but they deflected off his armour harmlessly. Zerban in turn advanced, his pistol recharging but Saffor hauled Vevara behind a bulky lander muttering, "That man needs to learn how to die."

Zerban stomped forward relentlessly and shouted, "Did you think you fooled me Vevara?! I know who you are and now I'll kill you, just like I did your sister!"

Besides the Rogue Trader Vevara went very still and Saffor saw the fury in her eyes, the words striking a chord within her. This was not the red hot rush of berserk madness but a chilling, icy wrath, one honed and focussed by an absolutely unbreakable will. The towering resolve and ruthless determination of an Inquisitor. Despite all Saffor had witnessed today this was perhaps the most terrifying thing he had seen.

Vevara whispered sternly, "I'll draw his fire, you have one shot."

"What are you…" Saffor started to say but then Vevara dashed out of cover, running hard.

Saffor could just barely see Zerban's form but he saw enough to spy the pistol coming about, ready to reduce Vevara to atoms. Time slowed for Saffor and he felt his heartbeat steadying, this was just like being on his personal assault course, surrounded by servitor targets. His pistols felt sure and steady in his grip, as comforting as a warm bed in the morning and just as natural. Nothing else existed in that moment, not the battle, not the Space Marines and not Vevara. There was only his pistol and the target, the sum total of his existence. Saffor breathed out slowly and raised his good arm, then stepped out of cover and feathered his pistol.

His aim was sure and steady and all three discs hit the same spot, not on Zerban's armoured skull but at the join of the helm and gorget, slicing into the vulnerable neck joint. Muscle-fibre underweave parted as skin tore and vertebrae were severed, the monomolecular edges of the discs not hindered at all by the matter they were cutting. One second Zerban was standing there, pistol held out before him and then a moment later his body fell sideways, blood pouring from his decapitated neck.

Saffor breathed in calmly and felt the beginnings of a grin tug at his lips. Once more he had gambled and won, fortune indeed favoured him and Zerban was dead at last.


	39. Chapter 39

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 39**

His hands were cold, he could feel it in his bones, a clammy pallor that made his fingers shiver and his grip weaken. The cold was also creeping up his legs, working icicles into the joints of his knees and rising higher. Saffor knew this sensation; it was the come down after a fight, the aftermath of combat leaving him drained. He had survived on sheer terror and adrenaline, the fear lending him speed and clarity not to be found elsewhere, but there was always a price to pay for such boons and he was paying it now.

Saffor wearily glanced about and saw a discarded crate and he fell heavily upon it, feeling the exhaustion reaching unto his very soul. His hands were shaking but he managed to sheath his pistols and then put his face into his hands and let the tiredness wash over him. For a minute Saffor sat there and now the high of combat was wearing off, he felt all the cuts and grazes that he hadn't noticed during the heady rush. His left shoulder especially was throbbing painfully and he knew it was going to stiffen up in a few hours; his left arm wouldn't be any good for days.

Saffor waited for long minutes as the weariness slowly passed and as it did so came the realisation that he was still alive. His enemy was dead and he was still alive, the mere thought was a giddy joy and a rush all its own. There was nothing else like it; to dance with death and emerge victorious was unlike anything else in life. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and the thudding of his own heart, telling him that he was alive and death could wait another day. Saffor knew of men who became addicted to such sensations, living only for the rush of victory and in that moment he understood how such a thing could consume a man's mind.

Saffor breathed out and lifted his head to peer about. While he had been sitting the hanger bay had fallen quiet, not silent at all, for moans and cries of dying men still rang out, but the sounds of fighting had finally stopped. Nearby the body of Zerban was still gushing blood, the head laying several feet away from him. Stooped over the corpse was the lady Vevara, riffling through his attire as if looking for something.

Saffor's eyes were drawn to the way the bodyglove hugged her curves and the blood in his ears started making some very demanding entreaties but he ignored it. It was the high of victory he recognised, the closeness of death always made men want to embrace life anyway they can. When he was a younger man such sensations made him want to drink and feast and dance and make love for days on end. Yet right now he only wanted to sit here and take it all in. Crap, he thought, am I that old already?

While he was pondering this Vevara pushed the corpse over and began searching underneath it and Saffor cleared his throat to say, "Can I help you with anything?"

Vevara kept her pretty blue eyes down as she muttered, "I thought he'd have evidence of his treachery on his person, but there's nothing."

Saffor cocked an eyebrow and asked, "What do you need evidence for?"

"For the Lord Inquisitors," Vevara stated, "Zerban wasn't working alone, he couldn't have done half of this without co-conspirators. We need to root them all out wherever they may lurk, none can be allowed to escape this filth's fate."

Saffor rubbed his chin and mused, "You really hated him, didn't you? What was that he said about your sister?"

"Your handsome company is welcome, but such questions are not," Vevara snapped but then she looked up and she grinned, "Maybe if you buy me a bottle of wine I'll tell you more, but for now why don't you be a dear and find out where my escorts have gone?"

Saffor was intrigued by the way she could switch from chilling ruthlessness to sly manipulation but wasn't in a mood to argue. He hauled himself upright and began to peer about for the Space Marines but he didn't have to look far. Coming towards them was the largest of the Astartes, the one with the black armour and skull-helm. He held his golden mace in one hand and in the other he was dragging the broken body of Kreg by one boot.

Saffor gasped to see the smashed form of his former bodyguard, now utterly ruined and going grey in death. His limbs were shattered, his chest caved in and his face had been reduced to a gory pulp. Saffor wouldn't have believed any living thing could do such a thing but the Space Marine barely looked winded. The Rogue Trader swallowed nervously and said, "How did you do that?"

The Space Marine came to a halt and dropped the dead foot, then he made a show of working a kink out of his shoulder as he remarked, "Your Ogyrn fought well… if briefly."

Suddenly another voice called out, "Furion's being modest, that half-wit never stood a chance against our Chaplain!"

Saffor turned and saw the other three Space Marines approaching, all of them covered in gore and blood. Furion turned to face them and call out, "Novak, Persion, Jediah, is the area secured?"

The Champion Novak replied confidently, "Absolutely, none were left alive."

Saffor gulped and uttered, "You killed them all? The crewmen were on our side!"

The one with the axe made a dismissive gesture and remarked, "Our orders did not include taking anybody alive."

Saffor realised then that there was something fundamentally wrong with these Astartes. After the rush of combat men would weep or rage or sit in shock or feel the ecstasy of victory. No man could live through such traumatic danger and not be profoundly affected by it, even hardened veterans could not ignore such surging emotions. Yet these Space Marines were talking as calmly as if they were strolling on a sunny day. The death and bloodshed seemed to have made no impression upon them, as if their minds had the part that was vulnerable to such things excised. Combat trauma could not affect them, Saffor realised, they had been remade for war, turned into perfect killing machines.

As he mused upon this the one with the short-sword, Jediah if he recalled correctly, bent over and scooped up Zerban's helm. He turned it over and examined it minutely saying, "If nobody else wants this, then I'm keeping it."

"The… the head is still… in there," Saffor pointed out nervously.

"That's why he wants it," Persion commented darkly.

Saffor didn't understand that remark but thankfully Novak turned to look at the broken gunship they had arrived in and stated, "The Stormraven is a mess, Hevostan is going to pitch a fit when he sees what we did to it."

"Its wounds will be tended to," Furion declared, "The gunship will fly again."

"Then you can explain that to the Forgemaster," Novak muttered, "I plan to be standing at a safe distance when you do, like in high orbit."

Persion looked about and remarked, "The Captain is going to be annoyed he missed a good fight."

"Captain Toran has a ship and a Company to command," Furion admonished him, "He can't be leading every little foray on his own, you would do well to understand that."

Saffor had been following the talk as it went back and forth but felt he had to say something and said, "I have to know, how did you get your ship so close to the Fortune's Fool undetected?"

Furion's skull-helm snapped about and he hissed, "That is not for you to know, there's no telling where your loyalties lie."

At that another voice arose, it was Vevara's feminine tones and she proclaimed, "I think we can safely assume Our Rogue Trader friend here wasn't working for Zerban willingly. I'm sure he's eager to sign on with us, aren't you Saffor?" The Rogue Trader realised then that he was now surrounded by an Inquisitor and four Transhuman killers, all of whom wouldn't hesitate to murder him. He saw that his life was not as safe as he had thought and that any prospect of his survival hinged upon convincing these people that he was on their side. Hastily Saffor put on a confident mien and declared, "Of course I am, anything you want, I'm with you."

"Excellent," Vevara said with an insincere smile, "Because next we liberate your ship and escorts, then we're going after the Diasporex."

"We're what?!" Saffor yelped in surprise.

Furion growled, "We have uncovered a conspiracy against the Imperium, that alien-lover Horroway has convinced us that her own people were working with Zerban. They must be stopped."

Saffor hadn't signed up for a life and death charge against an entire alien fleet but he could clearly see the consequences to his own person if he refused, so he put on a smile and said, "Sounds great, count me in."

"First things first," Vevara said, "I need to know how far Zerban's treachery has spread. I need to know, what he knew."

At that Jediah hefted his trophy helm and declared, "We have the means to discover what he knew."

"I knew it!" Persion loudly declared, "I just knew that's why you wanted that bloody thing."

Furion stopped him with a raised hand and said, "It is necessary, Jediah do what you have to do."

As Jediah removed his own helm Vevara took Saffor's arm and turned him away saying, "You really don't want to watch this bit, believe me."

Saffor had a sinking feeling about what was going to occur; he'd heard dark rumours about some Chapters practices of flesh-eating. He had never given them any credit until now but the awful truth was now apparent. Saffor tried to ignore the sound of metal sawing through bone and then the most sickening noises of ingestion that made him want to gag.

Thankfully Vevara kept her hand on his arm and remarked, "You're an interesting one Saffor, I could use a man with your talents and resources."

Saffor kept staring dead ahead and focused on her words saying, "I'm afraid I don't do long-term contracts, too much like having a job. I like the freedom to roam."

Vevara didn't look put out as she commented, "Actually I was thinking more of an ad-hoc agreement for when I need a friend, plus I can pay you very well. Besides it would let us get to know each other better."

The prospect brought back a little of Saffor's usual cunning and his interest was piqued but he had to point out, "There's the little matter of having to reclaim my ship first. The mutinous scum who betrayed me won't just give up simply because Zerban's dead."

"Let me worry about that," Vevara chuckled, "You just worry about keeping alive."

Saffor's next comment was cut off as the sounds behind them died; the pair turned around and saw Jediah wiping his chin of disgusting grey matter and dropping an empty skull to the deck. Saffor's stomach clenched at the sight but Vevara pressed, "What did you get?"

Jediah's eyes looked hazy as if he was seeing things and he said, "It's vague, we can't just pull out precise plans and schemes. But I see faces and hear names being mentioned; Zerban had a lot of contacts."

"Good," Vevara proclaimed, "We will sit down and go through them later on, but for now we have to concentrate on stopping the Diasporex."

Furion nodded and declared, "Third Company can capture the escort frigates, they will never see us coming. We here will assault the bridge directly and reclaim the Fortune's Fool. Speed and surprise will be everything, move out Storm Heralds!"

With that the four Space Marines ran off, Jediah hastily fitting his helm back on. Saffor watched them go and was certain that nothing would stop them; the Fortune's Fool would be back under his control within an hour. Then he glanced at his companion and wondered if it would be his control or Vevara's, but he supposed there were worse fates in the galaxy.

All he had to concentrate on was surviving the next battle.


	40. Chapter 40

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 40**

The Biosphere was burning, filling with thick acrid smoke that billowed strangely in the enclosed space. Flames licked at the edges of beautiful buildings, staining them soot black and destroyed transport capsules were strewn everywhere, shattered upon the ground. The air was filled with cacophonous alarms, repeating wails that droned on redundantly, their alerts already obvious to all.

This was the primary habitation space of the Mayflower and it was filled with warfare. Everywhere lifeforms of various races ran and fought in desperate confusion, screams arose as humans fired at darting Scythians, Tarellians' wrestled with Borlac and Orreti slithered about, blasting at scuttling Tushepta and soaring Gykons with wild abandon. The roars and bellows of the combatants were matched only by the wailing of the civilians caught in the crossfire, none of them understanding why this was happening or how it had come upon them so suddenly.

Mere hours before all had been peaceful and serene and then from nothing the carnage had erupted. The first signs of trouble had come from the Senate, a baroque edifice in the forgotten styles of Old Earth, but the fighting had soon spilled out. Teams of Senate Guards had been surprised by the assault and taken heavy losses but they were many and quickly rallied. Parties of desperate fighters had soon taken to the streets and parks, bringing war down upon the helpless civilians.

War raged along streets and within homes, schools and shops were set ablaze while explosions tore apart café's and theatres. In the commercial district offices became warzones as grappling soldiers fought to the death and along the shore of an artificial lake, bodies of females and small children lay in the stillness of death. Everywhere people fled in confused terror but there was nowhere to run, the battle was everywhere and none could escape it, not even those not currently on board.

Senator Acham gritted his teeth as he surveyed the carnage on a bank of pict-screens, watching everything unfold from a hundred different angles. He was stood ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind him, his grey tunic cut by a heavy belt which bore a naval sabre and a las-pistol. His bald head was cast in silhouette, lit only by the Pict-screens and his eyes were narrowed angrily as he beheld events unfolding.

Acham had set all this in motion but he was not there to watch it in person. He was currently standing in the Strategium of the Diasporex's flagship, the Hera, one of the antique Jupiter class Battleships. He had come here to oversee the capture of the fleet assets, leaving his allies to complete the seizure of the Senate but somehow they had managed to turn a straightforward coup d'etat into a blood-soaked revolution.

Acham's lips drew back over his gums and he snarled to himself, "By the galactic maw, how the hell did they Frak this up so badly?" He watched the pict-screens irately and saw Scythians sniping down from high rooftops, picking off fleeing civilians. In another screen a group of men had found some lasguns and were trying to hold a street corner, firing at anything that moved. Unfortunately a pack of Orreti spotted them and slithered up the walls of nearby buildings to approach from above, one large female and half-dozen smaller males, all armed to the teeth. They flanked the humans and gunned them down mercilessly, leaving none alive.

In yet another screen a trio of Borlac fell upon a crowd of cowering civilians, wrecking murder with sweeps of the massive energised hammers they held in their meaty hands. The sight made Acham's eyes narrow, for he saw that the Borlac had gone out of their way to corner those people. Ignoring a squad of dug-in Senate Guards to pin the men and women down and taking obvious delight in their slaughter. Something about that made Acham grow suspicious and he widened his gaze to take in the whole scene.

Yes there it was; a pattern was emerging, obvious when you knew what to look for. The slaughter of the civilians wasn't equally distributed, for the causalities were mostly from one particular race. Humans, he realised, his allies were seizing every opportunity they could to kill humans. In fact they were almost ignoring the Senate Guards, allowing them to rally and fight back. He was struck by the sudden realisation that his so-called allies hadn't been totally honest with him; that they had an agenda all their own.

Filled with outrage Acham lifted a comms-device on his wrist and pinged the bridge as he snarled, "Get me S'sner."

There was a significant pause and Acham was left to fume as he waited. After a long delay the vox-unit crackled and a voice came forth, "Acham, you wizhed to zpeak?"

Acham cursed the lack of face-to-face discourse; the Hera lacked the complete Quantum-pulse beacons, limiting him to standard vox. The Senator growled, "S'sner, what the hell are you playing at?"

There was a throaty cough, the Orreti equivalent of laughter and the alien said, "We are playing our part in the grand zcheme."

"Don't give me that," Acham snarled, "I can see what you're doing, you're abandoning the plan to target humans."

"Your plan," S'sner replied contemptuously, "Your kind haz done far worse to uz, how many worldz have humanz burned? How many racez hate your kind?"

Acham spat, "That was the Imperials, not us. You accepted the difference when you joined the Diasporex."

S'sner snorted back, "Not az equalz, your kind haz dominated the Diazporex for too long. All the other racez dezpize your rule. There are too many of you, you wield too much influence and we will correct the imbalance."

Acham couldn't believe his ears and snarled, "I promised you more influence and more technology! We were going to share power!"

"And zo we zhall," S'sner retorted, "Only now we zhall be in control, humanz will at lazt be put in their place. Thoze who are left when we are done, that iz."

"When I am finished out here I am going to come over there and make you regret this," Acham snarled.

"You can try," S'sner retorted, "When we dominate the Mayflower it iz you who shall kneel to uz. The reign of humanz iz over, now we zhall rule the Diazporex!"

With that the link snapped off and Acham was left to fume. He could barely believe what was occurring, how all his intricate schemes had fallen apart. First Janna had turned on him and now this. All that time and effort spent collecting the weapon shipment, smuggling it onto the Mayflower and arming his followers. Long and tedious work, so much that he had been concerned that the Diasporex would complete its preparations to jump to the Warp before he was ready, but now it was all falling apart.

With an angry glower he turned on his heel and strode out of the Strategium, exiting onto the bridge. It was a vast space, filled with bustling crew all working over various consoles in a hurried manner. All these beings had been hand-picked by Acham, selected to serve his cause. There were more Borlac, Orreti and Scythians present than he was currently comfortable with but the vast majority were humans and so he judged they wouldn't be willing to try anything here, probably.

Acham strode up to the bridge's command chair, where Captain Phella was ordering the mighty battleship with a confident manner. Acham had recruited Phella for her experience and loyalty, but also because she was a firm believer in his cause and would do anything to see it accomplished.

Acham paused at the foot of her chair pedestal and said, "Captain, how does the battle proceed?"

Phella replied, "Slowly, there is a lot of resistance. Many ships are refusing the order to stand-down and are trying to fight back."

Acham peered upwards into the Hololith suspended over the bridge and saw what she meant. The projection was filled with swirling shapes and darting icons. At the centre was the immense wedge of the Hera, enveloped by the flashing fighter squadrons spilling out from her launch decks. She was surrounded by battling ships, all blazing firepower in every direction. There were Gykon solar-yachts, Deimurg tradeships and Tushepta astro-schooners mixed with more conventional craft of ancient human origin.

Set against them were Acham's own forces, backed up by Arsenal ships, Gun-brigs and Sloops. They were outnumbered by their foes but had surprise and a tight formation on their side, nothing was coming close to hurting them. Acham grimaced as he saw the icons of Deesh and Znuch's command ships in the middle of the battle but they were at least firing in the right direction. Out here the coup was going to plan, it was only on the Mayflower that things were going wrong.

He glanced at the icon of the immense colony ship and saw she was drifting towards the Warp-Translation point, set on a course that would see her leave this system once and for all. Acham didn't like that prospect; he suspected S'sner would take the mighty vessel and depart immediately, stealing his home out from under him. Acham turned to Phella and stated, "This is taking too long, we need to finish this and get back to the Mayflower."

Phella glanced downwards and said, "We keep transmitting surrender orders but they refuse to listen. Our plan to wear them down until they are forced to yield will take time… unless you're willing to kill them en-masse."

Acham paused at the thought of killing Diasporex crews so wantonly; he had planned to grind them down slowly until the situation forced them into capitulation. Yet things were slipping out of control and he needed to get the void battle won fast. Reluctantly the Senator hissed through clenched teeth, "Do it."

Phella nodded and then called out, "Tactical officers, take the kid gloves off the gunnery crews. Shoot to kill!"

The Hera rumbled under Acham as the plasma batteries and meson-beamers of the battleship went to work. The Jupiter class had been humanity's first battleship design, heralded as a triumph of engineering when they left the Jovian shipyards. The Hera boasted a modest fighter capacity and dorsal meson-beamers but her true power lay in the massed ranks of plasma annihilators over her prow and flank. Rank after rank of weapon batteries lit up at the order, flinging devastating power into the void in an overwhelming barrage.

The first ship to feel the Hera's wrath was the Constitution, a Ganymede class cruiser fitted with multiple meson-beamers. The wave of plasma washed over her, overloading her shields and carving deep furrows into her hull. Acham saw the Hololith light up as energy and oxygen spilled out from the cruiser's ruptured flanks but still she came about, determined to reply in kind.

There was a moment's pause and then the deck rocked under Acham as the Constitution lashed out with four stabbing Meson-beamers. All of them hit but the mighty battleship was barely troubled and a bridge officer yelled, "Direct hit, but shields are holding, no damage."

Phella nodded but said to Acham, "Her shields are down, we can obliterate her but she's a valuable prize. She boasts an A.I. like the Bonaventure's and we could certainly use some of those."

Acham paused to think about it, he hadn't dared approach the A.I.'s of the fleet, they could have ruined his plans with a single word, but they were extremely valuable nonetheless. He wondered for a moment if he could convince them to support him but reluctantly dismissed the notion. He could never be sure of their loyalty and he didn't have the time to try. Acham shook his head and said sadly, "End her quickly."

Phella complied and cried, "Fire!"

Again the Hera's plasma batteries discharged, smothering the Constitution in firepower. The unshielded hull caved in under the onslaught as ravening blasts of energy cut deep into the cruiser. Explosions rang out within the ship as fires raged on every deck, crippling and destroying everything they touched. Then the cruiser rolled over in a dead spin, spewing life into the void as she lost all power and became a drifting hulk.

Acham knew he had just ordered the deaths of many tens of thousands of crewmen but there was no time to mourn, for the Hera was already realigning her guns to target the next ship. This battle couldn't last long with such firepower on his side yet Acham could only hope it ended quickly enough for him to get back to the Mayflower and try to save something from this debacle.


	41. Chapter 41

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 41**

The vacuum was filled with light and incandescent flashes of energy splitting the night sky apart. Star-bright plasma bolts hurtled to and fro as thin Meson-beams stabbed out seeking targets. Darting motes of drones as they swirled about opposing fighter crafts, trading flickers of las-fire. Burning plumes of oxygen spilled out of broken hulls as Cruisers were laid low and rolled over in death. One ship was wounded unto the core, overloading her plasma reactors and she exploded in an aching bright ball of fire, her death throes ripping into the hulls of nearby ships and spreading the destruction liberally about.

Captain Horroway was incredulous at the sight, the sheer enormity of the destruction filling the Hololith being hard to believe. Those were her comrades dying out there; killing compatriots they had fought alongside all their lives. One man's madness had led them here, one man's foolishness and desperation, bringing low a society that had endured all the Age of Strife could throw at it.

All around her the bridge crew of the Bonaventure stared in horror at what they were witnessing. They had seen their comrades turn against them, but that had been in the heat of the moment. Now they were left to view the battle as mute observers, the cold truth as inescapable as it was nightmarish. The Diasporex was dying before their eyes, not just its ships and people but the fundamental idea it had been founded upon. Unity, their precious unity was ashes.

The crew of the Bonaventure had worked marvels already, labouring through every ship-shift to bring the cruiser back to life. Horroway knew Mr Robar had not slept for days, tending to systems with frantic desperation. The Captain could feel the results of his labour in the way her chair quivered under her. The Bonaventure was operating at near full power, her engines and reactors pushing her confidently forwards. Yet there was a wicked shimmy buried in that vibration, a legacy of the deep wounds she had taken.

Horroway knew a lot of the primary systems had been replaced with spare parts, exhausting their reserve stockpiles, but she also knew many more systems had been patched up with little more than bonding tape. She had also heard whispers that Robar had fallen back on old beliefs and had his crews offering up libations, prayers and purity seals to appease the 'Machine Spirits'. But the one thing she wasn't prepared to admit out loud was that she suspected those superstitious rituals were the only thing holding the ship together. If the ship did have a spirit then it was one of remarkable grit.

Horroway put aside her misgivings and looked up into the Hololith, observing the tactical situation. The Bonaventure was crossing into sensor range of the battle, following in the wake of the bigger Thunderchild and the eclectic Fortune's Fool. They were in turn escorted by a half-dozen escort frigates, now firmly under Teliday's control once more. It was a small force in the terms of the fight already underway, but it might just be enough to tip the balance.

Horroway looked down and called out, "Condition report!"

D'ras turned to face her and called, "All compartments secured, all crew report ready."

Robar added, "Reactors at full power, but power relays are straining to hold together. Don't push her too hard."

Krang contributed, "We've restored eighty-seven percent of the Plasma Annihilators, but Meson-Beamers and the Ceti-Disruptor are fully functional."

Then Numeta appeared in a beam of light and stated, "I've managed to contact my kin on the other ships. There aren't many left now, Acham's forces will complete their victory within the hour. The Mayflower is headed towards the Warp-Translation point at best speed; she is making a run for it."

"We have to stop them," Horroway growled, "Who's in command of the resistance?"

"Nobody," Numeta replied, "Each ship is fighting their own battle and losing."

Horroway grimaced and announced, "Give me your eyes! Friends, I know none of you wanted this fight, I know none of you ever expected this to happen. The Diasporex stands on the brink and only we can save it. We have to save the idea we were founded upon, that we are better together than we are apart. One man seeks to tear down that dream but we shall stop him. Together we shall save the Diasporex from Acham's madness!"

The crew did not yell or cheer but there was fire in their eyes and they returned to their duties with steely resolve. Horroway however leaned over and said, "D'ras, a word."

The Number One looked up and said, "Captain?"

Horroway looked him in the eye and said, "I know this will be hard for you but I need to know you're ready to do whatever is necessary."

D'ras responded with a scowl, "I don't understand."

Horroway saw the uncertainty in his eyes, the doubts left by the horrors he had witnessed, but she said, "I need you to be stern and uncompromising, with no reservations or hesitation. Acham must be stopped at any cost, none of us can be considered more important than that. I need you to keep the crew focussed, even though what's about to come may make them want to turn aside."

D'ras nodded and said, "Rest assured I am with you, no matter comes I will not let their will break. We do this, for the Greater Good."

"For Unity," Horroway corrected him.

Suddenly Numeta jerked and cried, "They've seen us! Hostile ships coming to bear, counting two Arsenal ships. Interceptor-drones and Heavy-drones are in the void and burning hard!"

Horroway saw them coming and called out, "Ready point-defence turrets and prepare for sudden course corrections."

The crew sprang to obey but D'ras was listening to the communication system and reported, "Signal from the Gue'ron… the Space Marines. All ships are to hold course, fighters and gunships are launching to intercept."

Horroway nodded in acceptance, agreeing to let the Space Marines assume fleet command had been a condition of their joining the cause. Still she couldn't argue, she needed them and frankly after what she had seen of the Astartes' capabilities they may well be the key to winning this.

The ships continued on their course, headed straight towards the battle. It was a bold move, aggressive and confident but also the quickest way to get their guns into the fight. As the Bonaventure soared on, clouds of fighters and Thunderhawks were spilling out of her companions. The strike craft moved forward to oppose the hostile ordnance and all Horroway could do was sit and watch as the battle erupted before them.

She heard Krang mutter, "What wouldn't I give for a single carrier ship of our own right now."

Horroway ignored his remark and ordered, "Helm, come two degrees to starboard, keep us out of that mess. Port weapons; stand by to engage enemy capital ships."

The swirling dogfight still raged before the ships and every flash of light signified brave crews dying or relentless enemies being swatted down but Horroway could not intervene. It was hard to watch but the Bonaventure was not designed for that kind of fight, she could only hope to destroy their carrier vessels. Horroway's eyes fixed upon the Arsenal ships, closing into gun range and she whispered, "Coming to sink your teeth in: big mistake."

A moment later D'ras called out, "Space Marines order the fleet to swing starboard and present main guns. Target the lead ship at extreme range."

"Do it," Horroway commanded, "Krang…"

"Already on it," the Taerellian replied urging the gunnery crews to get the weapons aligned.

Slowly the fleet came to bear and Horroway saw the firing arcs swinging about with the ponderousness only starships could know. As they waited she said, "Numeta, anything you can do from here?"

The Binaric being shook her simulated head and answered, "Negative, all command codes have been reset. I have no system access."

"Too much to hope for," Horroway muttered, "But keep scanning enemy transmissions for Acham's precise location on the Mayflower, if we can find him the Astartes can end this."

Suddenly D'ras leapt up and cried, "Incoming signal: fire broadsides!"

"Fire!" Horroway yelled in response.

A moment later the Thunderchild and the Bonaventure lit up with waves of destructive power. Their range being far greater than the Fortune's Fool. Barrages of plasma blasts erupted from the Diasporex cruiser, adding to the onslaught of Macrocannons, Turbolasers, Grav-cannons and missiles of the Astartes' ship. The range was great but once more the Imperial ship more than made up for the crudity of its weapons with the staggering number of them and together the pair ladled destruction upon the leading Arsenal Ship.

Horroway held her breath as the Hololith lit up and she waited with her hands turning white upon her chair. The Arsenal ship was surrounded by waves of immense destruction and sure enough her shields soon failed. Horroway leapt up and cried, "Fire Meson-beamers!" and two columns of energy spat out from the Bonaventure, stabbing into the deep void.

The beams caught the Arsenal ship dead-on and burrowed within her hull. Deck after deck was penetrated as the energy cored into her and they caused tremendous damage to her internal systems. Fires erupted, and bulkheads were beached as many lives were ended. The Arsenal ship was wounded but not dead and in return she and her sister ship, spat back blazing Meson-beams of their own.

Horroway was thrown aside in her chair as the energy washed over the Bonaventure, causing her artificial gravity to convulse. Warnings erupted from all over the bridge as she cried, "Damage report!"

Robar called back, "One direct hit, one miss. Shields held but barely, the harmonics are fluctuating. Captain, she can't take a beating in her poor state."

Horroway gritted her teeth but there was nothing to be done save hold on and wait for the ranges to close. She tracked the closing Arsenal ships and kept one eye upon the gunnery consoles as they struggled to recharge their weapons. Soon the Orreti craft had closed the distance and D'ras relayed, "Signal: hit them again!"

Horroway commanded, "Give them everything!"

Once more the Bonaventure and the Thunderchild threw torrents of destruction into the void, inundating the closing Arsenal ship. This time the range was closer and the blasts caused horrifying amounts of damage. Armour ruptured, drone pods were torn free and weapons torn off her hull. Then the Thunderchild added the weight of her Bombardment Cannons to the fray, hurling city-killing munitions right at the wallowing craft. The shells struck the beleaguered vessel and burrowed deeply within, then like a bolt-round they detonated, exploding outwards with earthshattering force. The Arsenal ship blew apart in an ever-expanding ball of destruction, reduced to a cloud of fiery spinning debris.

One ship had been dealt with but the other had not and it closed in fast, determined to avenge its kin. Hastily Horroway cried, "Watch out, they may try to hit us with Torpedo-drones."

But D'ras spun about in horror and exclaimed, "Captain, they're accelerating on a collision course. They're trying to ram us!"

Horroway saw the other Arsenal ship surge forward and immediately called, "Helm, hard-a-starboard!"

Slowly the prow started to come about but Horroway could see it was already too late for the ranges were too close. In desperation she cried, "Emergency power to thrusters!"

"The superstructure can't take it!" Robar shouted but Horroway was fixated on the Hololith. Inexorably the icons closed together, bringing the fatal impact ever closer. Then unexpectedly another force intervened: the Fortune's Fool, rising above the horizontal plane, firing all weapons at the closing ship.

Horroway could only hang on to her chair and watch as the Fortune's Fool unloaded her weapons at point-blank range, throwing everything it had at the Arsenal ship. Waves of firepower swept over the Orreti craft, overloading her shields and striking her hull most profusely. Compartments were blown open under the barrage, breaking apart to spew bodies and atmosphere into space. The Orreti craft shuddered under the barrage, suffering terribly, but the net effect of the outgassing was to push her off course and send her plunging away harmlessly into the void.

"Thank you Saffor," Horroway breathed out in relief and then the crew erupted into cheers as they saw the threat spin away.

The jubilation rang out for a moment and then D'ras turned and shouted through the din, "New orders: escorts are to finish off the cripple while capital ships are to move forward and engage."

Horroway drew herself up and cried, "Back to your posts! Look alive, that was only two of them. There's plenty more to go yet!"


	42. Chapter 42

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 42**

The jolt nearly threw her out of her chair, a hard impact that shook the whole bridge. Crewman yelled as they were thrown aside and alarms wailed as warning lights flashed everywhere, creating a mad strobing effect. She felt its jarring disruption and the vibration of it was unmistakable, that was no shield impact, that was a hit upon the hull. The damage must have been significant for the artificial gravity began to tilt, erroneously tipping the whole bridge over as if it was some proto-mythic boat being turned on its side by an ocean swell.

Horroway pulled herself upright in her chair, fighting the skewed gravity and shouted, "Damage report!"

Clinging onto a control console Robar yelled up, "Direct hit on dorsal power relays, we've lost life support on decks fifty-six and fifty-seven. Gravity generators are down in that section, the rest of the fields are out of synch. Repair teams are on route!"

"Tell them to hurry!" Horroway commanded.

Robar's face was a picture of exasperation at the redundant order but all he said was, "Aye Captain."

Horroway saw him bend over a console and as he did so pulled a small cog-shaped icon from his sleeve. She was almost certain he was praying to the Machine Spirits again but she didn't rebuke him, as long as he got the damned gravity fixed then he could start sacrificing poultry for all she cared.

Horroway put him from her mind and looked up at the Hololith, which seemed to be at a forty-five-degree angle. She could see the Bonaventure was surrounded by foes, there were craft everywhere, blasting away furiously as more and more corpses of dead vessels spun off into the silent night, spilling escape pods. The Bonaventure was currently trading shots with another Callisto-class cruiser, the Bounty, one of Acham's vessels.

The foe was fresh and undamaged but she was outnumbered by the combined broadsides of the Thunderchild, Fortune's Fool and Bonaventure. She was making a running pass along the vertical axis, trading shots with the intruder's fleet. A bold move that might just work and had already wounded the battered Bonaventure.

Horroway saw the other ship was coming alongside, doubtless bringing their Meson-beamers to bear. That was a problem, those weapons could cause catastrophic damage if they got a shot at their unprotected hull, she had to prevent that. Horroway glanced at the gunnery consoles and called, "Their shields are down. Krang, bring up the Ceti-disrupter."

The Tarellian was having trouble standing on the skewed deck but he clawed his way hand over hand to his post and called, "Aye Captain, aligning cannon."

Horroway sweated profusely as she waited but suddenly Numeta cried, "More contacts! Escort squadron coming up from below the plane of engagement!"

Horroway looked up in shock, those escorts had come out of nowhere and they were on an attack run. The situation was dire, the newcomers had a clear shot at the Bonaventure's belly, but if they turned to engage the escorts the Bounty would tear them to shreds.

Horroway made a snap call and cried, "Ignore them; they're only decoy-drones."

Numeta frowned and said, "You're sure?"

Horroway replied, "Look at those Arsenal ships hanging just out of gun-range, they're trying to trick us."

Numeta nodded in compliance but Horroway knew something the Binaric being didn't, she knew she was bullshitting. The hard truth of the vectors was they could only target one enemy and she had guessed that the escorts were nothing but a distraction. Her eyes travelled to Robar and she wondered if she should join him in praying that her guess was right.

Then Krang called, "Ceti-disrupter ready!"

Frantically Horroway yelled, "Fire!"

Arcing lightning leapt out from the bulbous weapon and enveloped the Bounty, surging into her weapons systems to render them null and void. The other ship was left defenceless and it could do nothing but soar onwards, trailing fire from various wounds. It plunged past the trio of cruisers, retreating at top speed from the salvos of weapon battery fire that chased it off.

Horroway breathed easily for a moment then looked again and called, "What of the other escorts?"

Numeta affected a grin and reported, "Drifting past without firing a shot, you were right, they were nothing but decoy-drones."

Horroway felt herself sag in relief, the near-space was clear and they would live for another few minutes. Suddenly the bridge lurched and righted itself, bringing gravity back into alignment. Wearily Robar uttered, "Life-support restored, shields coming back, but they're weak. I can only cobble together so many bypasses before the whole system fails and I don't like the way the targeting computers are fritzing."

"Trust in the Bonaventure," Horroway told him, "She's brought us this far, she won't let us down now."

Robar nodded but the Captain stroked the arm of her chair and whispered, "Come on old girl, you're not going to give up on us now are you?"

"What was that?" Numeta asked.

"Nothing," spluttered Horroway, not wanting to admit she was talking to an inanimate piece of metal. Robar must be rubbing off on her she thought.

She returned her attention to the Hololith and saw the battle unfolding. The trio of intruders had penetrated far into the battlespace, leaving a trail of burned enemies in their wake. It had been costly though, all the capital ships had taken damage and three of their escorts were nothing but flaming wreckage. Swarms of fighters still swirled around them, notably fewer now, but determined to keep the void clear. The remainder of the battle was dwindling, the number of combatants dropping sharply as Acham's forces overwhelmed any opposition. The resistance was failing and the intruder fleet was the only real opposition left.

Horroway glanced at the retreating icon of the Mayflower and tried to see how they could reach it but then D'ras called out, "Captain, I'm getting a vox-transmission… it's Senator Acham."

Horroway blinked in surprise and said, "Vox only? Put him on."

Numeta's avatar blinked and then she disappeared, only to be replaced by the glowering form of Acham. The Senator saw her and growled, "Janna, what are you doing?"

Horroway glared back and hissed, "Fighting you."

Acham shook his head and uttered, "Bringing Imperials into this, how could you sink so low?"

"Don't you dare lecture me on morality after what you've done," Horroway spat back.

Acham scowled as he stated, "It's still not enough, you can't win. Surrender now and I will be merciful; I don't want to kill you but I will if you force my hand."

"It will be a cold day in hell before I do that," Horroway snarled at him.

With that she cut the transmission and Numeta reappeared saying, "Well, that was pointless."

"No, it wasn't," Horroway countered, "He used the vox, not quantum-pulse beacons. He could never resist showing them off, so that means he is not on the Mayflower."

D'ras looked puzzled and asked, "Where is he?"

Horroway pointed at a tight knot of icons and said, "If I know Acham, then there's only one other place he would go: the Hera. Signal the Space Marines; tell them we've located the Senator."

D'ras complied and then turned to say, "Signal: All vessels to come to bear on that battleship, provide covering fire so the Thunderchild can close to boarding range."

Horroway waved an acknowledgement and the intruders came about, heading right for the immense bulk of the Hera. She was a huge ship, easily outmassing even the Thunderchild and Horroway knew she had power enough to end the battle single-handed. Yet the Captain had seen what Space Marines could do in a boarding action, if they could get over there then Acham wouldn't stand a chance.

It seemed Acham knew it too for suddenly a group of icons peeled off and moved to intercept. Horroway saw a pair of Gun-brigs and a half-dozen sloops closing and she muttered, "They don't want us getting too close."

Numeta frowned for a moment then stated, "I'm getting signal noise… those are command ships. It's Znuch and Deesh themselves."

"Those two!" Krang snorted, "I thought they were dead."

"No such luck," Horroway muttered, "We'll have to do this the hard way, come to course 125 mark 015 and prepare to engage."

"Captain, primary systems are stretched to the limit," Robar cautioned, "We can't take much more of this."

"Can't be helped," Horroway stated, "Just hold her together a little longer Mr Robar."

Swiftly the two groups of icons closed and the Bonaventure, Thunderchild and Fortune's Fool came in at an oblique angle, presenting their port broadsides to the foe. Horroway watched them closing and fought the urge to fire early, these foes were fast and would close before the guns could recharge, they would only have time for one short-ranged barrage.

A bead of cold sweat ran down the Captain's neck but then D'ras called, "Signal: fire broadside!"

"Fire everything!" Horroway yelled in response.

A wave of devastating power erupted from the cruisers, crossing the distance in mere moments. Shells, plasma, turbolasers, Meson-beams and missiles hit the closing vessels, blowing their shields aside and ripping into their hulls. Yet so close was the range that the enemy fired simultaneously and their own barrage crossed the void to fall upon the cruisers.

Horroway felt the deck lurch and the Bonaventure wailed as her shields took another battering but it was brief and short-lived. She looked up in surprise and called, "What happened?"

Robar responded, "Light fire only, they weren't aiming for us."

"The Thunderchild," Horroway exclaimed seeing where the majority of the firepower had gone. Indeed the Astartes ship had taken a bludgeoning, her shields overloading and her hull armour shredded in many places. The mighty ship was wounded but she was still in the fight and still firing, as were the other ships. Even as she watched one, two, three and four sloops fell out of formation, bleeding atmosphere and going dark as their reactors failed.

The remaining pair flashed past the prows of the intruder fleet, thinking to avoid the heaviest barrage but they were cruelly surprised as a flight of Torpedoes launched from the Thunderchild's prow. They were caught unaware and instantly blown into clouds of expanding plasma and tiny metal slivers.

"Goodbye Znuch and good riddance," Krang muttered.

Horroway however called, "Status on the Gun-Brigs?"

"One took a critical hit, she's losing power," Numeta reported, "The other is closing in on the Thunderchild, they want to cripple her."

"The hell they are," Horroway cried, "Fire Ceti-disrupter!"

One more the arcane device discharged, lashing the Gun-brig with disruptive lightning. The squat nosed ship was covered in arcing energies, rendering her guns useless but that did not slow her at all. If anything the Borlac ship accelerated, diving right at the wallowing Thunderchild like a swooping bird of prey.

D'ras gasped and cried, "They're going to ram her!"

"No, we can't let them stop the Space Marines," Horroway shouted, "Fire Meson-beamers!"

At her command two brilliant spears shot out into the night, etching long lines of destructive energies across the void. They were potent and deadly beams, able to penetrate any armour they struck. Yet the Bonaventure was suffering from many wounds and her systems were started to fray at the seams. Her targeting systems were fritzing and resetting randomly and so her shots were poorly aimed. The Meson-beams were wasted, passing harmlessly underneath the Gun-brig, leaving the Borlac vessel completely unscathed.

"We missed!" cried Krang incredulously.

"Recharge the guns!" Horroway shouted desperately but Numeta screamed, "It's too late!"

Even as they watched in disbelief the Gun-brig hurled itself forward with lightning still wreathing its prow. It dove upon the Astartes vessel, which was futilely spitting defiance at it. The squat ship pounced like a striking hawk, as plasma blasts and missiles gouged at its thick armour. The firepower tore at its bulk but could not slow its advance and then with the power of a juggernaut it slammed nose-first into the Thunderchild's flank, burying itself deeply into the hull.

Armour plating tore free and plasma erupted in showers of bleeding energy as the Gun-brig savagely plunged its prow into its victim's flesh. The Astartes vessel was sent into a ponderous spin by the impact, losing helm control as it rolled over and over. The Thunderchild was left to spin helplessly in the midst of the battle, with the Gun-brig sticking out of its ruptured flank like a knife from a man's guts.

Horroway could only watch aghast as the pair of conjoined vessels fell out of formation and she knew that hundreds of Borlac would be flooding into the Astartes' vessels' bowels. Eager to meet the Space Marines face to face and end them.


	43. Chapter 43

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 43**

The ship was heaving with a sickening, violent motion. It was an appalling thing to experience, the death-throes of a starship being played out in every shudder. All around them alarms screeched and servitors wailed as crewman cried out in terror. The bridge was filled with a cacophony of fear and mayhem, mixed with the ear-splitting roar of metal breaking and power relays overloading as the Thunderchild screamed in torment.

Furion could hear every note of the mad symphony in perfect detail. Among the bridge pews men vomited profusely or cried aloud as their ship was wracked by violent shudders, the painful thrashing caused by the tremendous impact that had struck it. Men screamed as the gravity fluctuated, alternately crushing them or throwing them high as it oscillated. Even the Hololith was not immune, a crazed kaleidoscope of swirling stars as the Thunderchild spun over and over, caught in a dead-roll it could not arrest.

Furion knew all too well that the crew were useless in this state. Even Captain Toran could not undo this tragedy; his orders were being ignored in the confused anarchy. Furion's lips drew back in frustration, these serfs were the Chapter's servants but they were still only mortals. Men, who like all Imperial void-farers, were deeply superstitious and prone to break once their morale failed. Yet today it would not break, for Furion would not allow it.

Furion mag-clamped his boots to the deck and strode firmly down the nave, unmoved by the shuddering beneath him. He passed cowering serfs, who held on grimly to their consoles and then stood like a statue between the pews. Furion drew in a breath then bellowed, "Stand fast, cease your wailing and return to your posts!"

From a pew a man cried, "We're going to die!"

"The Emperor has abandoned us!" screamed another.

Furion's head snapped around and he roared, "Speak not that Heresy! The Emperor watches over us, always!"

"The ship is lost," a serf yelled, "We cannot survive!"

Furion's ire boiled over and he roared, "Are you craven worms or Men of the Imperium?! We are not feeble Xenos to crumble at the first setback. Death and danger hold no fear for us, for we are steel and we are doom. For ten millennia mankind has endured all the universe can throw at us and yet we have not broken and we shall not break today!"

"The Emperor Protects!" cried a voice from the crowd.

Furion caught cry and spread it, lifting Storm-Heart high for all to see and crying, "The Emperor Protects!"

"The Emperor Protects," cried the crew as more men took up the call, "The Emperor Protects, the Emperor Protects!"

Furion let it ring out for a moment then called, "Get back to your posts and know He is watching over you even now." With renewed confidence men returned to their duties, many of them kissing small icons or thumbing tokens hanging around their necks. Furion glared at the few hold-outs until they too went back to work then turned to the command dais and called, "We await your orders Captain."

Toran nodded in gratitude and said, "Words cannot express our thanks Chaplain. Now all stations, status report."

First to speak was Arvael calling, "Heavy damage to port flank, we have an enemy vessel lodged amidships like a burr in our flesh. Shields are non-existent and we have only erratic power from the reactors."

Then Jediah called out, "Weapons are scrambled six ways to Sanguinalia, we can't shoot at anything like this."

Novak reported, "Launch bays not responding, I can't reach anyone."

Persion for his part stated, "Sensorium off-line, comms are nothing but static. We're deaf and blind."

Memnos added, "Internal casualties are overwhelming, the Apothecarions can't cope with the influx of dead and wounded."

Finally Hevostan proclaimed, "We're caught in a barrel roll, the Machine Spirits are monumentally offended, they struggle to compensate."

"That's our priority," Toran said, "Get us out of this roll, restoring helm control is essential. We're crippled but were not dead, we need to get back into this fight."

Furion was about to ask for a repair estimate but suddenly Arvael cried in horror, "Warp Hells! Intruder alarms on decks seventy-six to two hundred and nine. We have hostile Xenos pouring into our bowels. It's that vessel lodged in our flank, they're boarding us through their gun ports!"

Toran reacted instantly, drawing his sword and crying over the vox, "Third Company move to repel boarders. All swords with me!"

Yet Furion rebuked him, "Captain no, protocol demands you must remain here."

Toran snarled impatiently, "This is no time for protocols."

Furion stepped closer and said, "A Captain's place in on the bridge. The crew's courage is brittle; they will break again without your presence. We are still in a void-battle and it will do no good to repel boarders if we get blown apart from afar. You are in command and have to help Hevostan anyway you can. Let me handle the boarders."

"Of all the times to lecture me," Toran muttered, "But you speak wisely, take command of the Third, I'll get the Thunderchild back under control."

Furion nodded and then called, "Command squad with me." The others streamed in his wake as he led them out the armoured hatch and sprinted to a transit capsule. The deck was already starting to settle down as they ran, signs that the ship was not beyond recovery. Furion doubled his pace, the others following close behind, focussed and ready for battle. Together they piled into a capsule and sent it hurtling downward.

Persion scanned the vox and reported, "Third Company is engaging the foe but numbers are heavily stacked against us."

"Where's the nearest fight?" Furion asked.

"Deck seventy-six," Persion answered, "Cortha is there but they are being overwhelmed."

"Can't this damn thing go any faster?" Novak exclaimed.

Furion silently agreed but could only wait as the capsule shot downwards, every second crawling by like an eternity. Finally they reached their destination and the door slid open to reveal a scene of madness. They had emerged in a transit hub for munitions, filled with carriages with tracks as big as a Baneblade that bore mighty Macrocannon shells up vertical shafts to the gun batteries. All around the hub dead bodies were strewn, piles of serfs who appeared to be crushed and electrocuted. Smoke filled the air and cyber- cherubs flitted to and fro, wailing in Binaric distress, the censers they bore to bless shells with unguents spilling their loads as they panicked.

Furion instantly spied Storm Heralds scattered about, a Tactical and an Assault squad, fiercely embattled. They were beset by huge grey shapes, Borlac, Furion recalled from their initial meeting. Each one stood head and shoulders over a Space Marine, covered in thick layers of blubber and fat, with beady eyes and twin tusks sticking out of their maws. They were clad in little armour other than pot-helms, while in their meaty paws were immense electro-hammers, resembling Thunder Hammers save for their lack of beauty and purity. They bellowed in fury as they piled in, swinging their hammers with wild abandon. The Borlac seriously outnumbered the Space Marines and were driving them back with strength and fury.

Furion didn't even have to give an order for the Command squad leapt forward, joining the fray without hesitation. First to reach a Borlac was Novak, who swept in from behind and sliced his sword low to hamstring the Xeno's leg as he shouted, "Ha!" Blubber parted and turgid blood flowed as the sword cut the flesh but so thick was the fat underneath that he failed to reach a tendon and the strike did exactly nothing.

"What the Frak?!" Novak cried in surprise and nearly had his head torn off as the Borlac hove about to swing its hammer laterally. Only Novak's Transhuman reflexes saved him, letting him duck under the blow as the hammer hurtled by. Furion paused to let the hammer pass then dove in crying, "Don't pussyfoot about, get stuck in and reach the internal organs!"

He matched deeds to words and swung Storm-heart to crash into the piles of flesh before him. The Crozius flared with power and the skin blackened under his blow, making the Borlac roar in anger. The Xenos swung again making Furion dodge hastily backwards then he struck out, catching the elbow. The blow would have torn off a human arm, it would have crippled an Orc, but here it merely scorched the swollen hide. Furion grimaced in disgust and prepared to dodge again but suddenly the Borlac reared back, shuddering in pain.

Right behind it was Novak, his sword buried up to the hilt in its spine. He worked the blade like a saw, tearing muscle and bone apart until the Borlac finally keeled over. Instantly Furion jumped forward and brought Storm-Heart down on its pot-helm, blasting the head apart in a flare of power. Novak had to get both hands on his sword to pull it out of the thick blubber and he snarled, "Emperor wept, these things take a lot of killing."

Furion concurred, looking about to see the rest of the squad fully engaged. Jediah was riding the back of a Borlac as it thrashed about, careening one way and then another. He was clinging on with one hand as he plunged his short sword into the fat of its back with the other. Over and over and over he stuck, causing only minimal damage and he roared between stabs, "What. Does. It. Take. To. Kill. You?!"

Suddenly Persion veered in, coming to aid his Brother. He leapt at the Borlac's legs and threw himself under it, skidding across the deck. His Friction Axe lashed out and took it in the thigh, landing a blow that should have severed the limb clean off. The Borlac merely staggered as Persion rolled to his feet but it stopped thrashing long enough for Jediah to climb higher and reach around its neck. Viciously he drove his short-sword into its throat and the Borlac finally collapsed, spraying blood in wide arcs from its gashed neck.

Elsewhere Memnos was kneeling over a crushed Tactical Marine, recovering his gene-seed. It was a suicidal action in mid-battle but such was an Apothecary's sworn task and Furion was amazed by Memnos' selfless devotion to his sacred duty. Behind him Arvael was facing off against a Borlac, he had conjured a Kine-shield as a barrier between them but the Xenos was swinging his hammer over and over to pound at it.

The impacts made Arvael stagger, feeling the blows in his mind as brutally as if they were striking flesh. Again and again the hammer stuck and Arvael was bowed low, his hands held up before him as bloody tears ran from his eyes. The Librarian on the verge of collapse but his psychic hood flared with Warp-light and suddenly a weighty chain flew free from a munitions carriage and wrapped itself around the Borlac's neck. Arvael jerked his hands into fists and the chain went taught. The Xenos dropped its hammer as it was hauled off upwards, kicking and clawing at its neck as it strangled to death.

All this had occurred in a few seconds and Furion wasted not a moment more to re-enter the fray. He and Novak went into the middle of the battle, lending their aid to the embattled squads. The fighting was as desperate and ferocious as any he had ever known. The Space Marines' weapons were making little impression on the foe, knives merely scratched the Xenos' hides, bolt-rounds couldn't penetrate the thick flesh to reach internal organs and chainswords merely chewed up blubber. Only the Command squad's weapons were making an impact and even they had to work in pairs to take down one Borlac at a time.

Suddenly Furion spotted Cortha amid the fray, his apprentice battling a Borlac covered in bolter-craters. Furion leapt to aid him crying, "Cortha!"

His apprentice saw him coming and cried, "Master, we are being overwhelmed, these scum don't go down easily."

"Then hit them harder!" Furion cried as he rammed Storm-heart point first into a fat gut.

The rolls of fat enveloped Furion's weapon but he had been expecting that and he triggered his Crozius' energy field at maximum potential. The Borlac convulsed in agony, for the energy had nowhere to go save into its central nervous system. The Xenos shuddered for a moment and then keeled over, brain burned to ash.

Furion had no time to celebrate though, for another Borlac leapt at him. This one had a red-helm that boasted paired horns, curving down around the jaw. It swung a blazing hammer at Furion and roared, "Die hewman! Die at the hands of Deesh!"


	44. Chapter 44

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 44**

Deesh came charging right at him, heavy paws pounding at the deck. He was a huge creature, standing head and shoulders over his kin, who in turn loomed over the Space Marines. His swollen flesh was covered in ageing scars and healed wounds, signs of a lifetime spent fighting for dominance. The Xenos bore a massive electro-hammer in his meaty hands, with a solid head that was flanged with spikes and had evil looking red lighting wrapping around it.

All around them battle raged, Storm Heralds against Borlac. The odds were steep but Furion could only trust the Command Squad had done enough to turn the tide. Then Deesh came at them and there was no more time for anything but the immediate fight. The Borlac swung the immense hammer diagonally down at Furion but the Chaplain, leapt back to allow the head to fly past. Then he raised Storm-Heart before him and cried, "Fear the light of the…"

Before he could finish Deesh thrust the head of the hammer right into his chest. Furion staggered as blazing light erupted from his sacred Rosarius, dissipating the harsh bite of the electrical charge, but it could do nothing to prevent it physically crashing into his breastplate. The sharp flanges of the weapon snagged in his plate and caught there. Before Furion could even react the Borlac heaved upwards with both hands, lifting the Chaplain off the floor. Furion found himself being flung upwards, soaring over Deesh's head to be dismissively thrown away.

Furion hit the floor and rolled over, coming back up but before his eyes he saw the Command Squad leap at Deesh, trying to bring him down. Novak was the first to make contact, lashing in with a flurry of blows to rip and tear at the billows of fat. Yet his sword made little impression beyond shallow gouges, the Champion shifted his grip and tried to plunge his sword in deeper but unfortunately Deesh's bulk did not make him slow. The huge hammer swung low, trying to take out Novak's legs. The Champion managed to get his combat shield down in time to parry the blow but as he did so the Borlac's head shot forth and smashing his pot-helm into Novak, sending him staggering. A kick from a heavy foot followed, knocking him away to skitter across the floor.

While they had been engaged Persion had crept up behind and with a heavy swing buried his Friction Axe into Deesh's back. The burning weapon bit deep, letting Xenos blood flow and Persion cried, "Die Xenos filth!"

Deesh roared in anger at the wound but spun about shouting, "You shall die! For my people, for all the races you mad apes have slaughtered!"

One huge hand shot forward with eye-watering speed and caught the Astartes' left pauldron. Deesh's hand closed like a vice and the pad crumpled in his grip, shattering to pieces under the strain. Persion was forced to his knees by the weight as Deesh raised his hammer to crush him utterly. Yet before he could strike Jediah leapt up high, his Fractal edged short-sword angling right for the Borlac's eyes. Deesh snarled and pulled back, letting Persion go as the blade nicked his fat cheek. Deftly he twisted the haft of his hammer around and the blunt end caught Jediah in the side, shattering ribs and leaving him sprawled upon the deck as his body tried to rebuild itself.

Deesh roared, "No hewman can match me!" Yet Arvael was willing to take up the challenge. He charged in, Force-Morningstar blazing with psychic might as he cried an abjuration of revulsion. The weapon hit Deesh in the wide belly and the telekinetic discharge blasted the Borlac backwards, feet skidding across the deck. Deesh's back slammed into one of the massive shell-carriages with a fat slap but somehow he bounced off it, bounding back the way he had come. Arvael was caught by surprise but his reflexes let him dodge a blow of the hammer, yet he did not see the Borlac lower his head and lash out with his massive tusks. A crude fang caught Arvael on the face, spraying blood everywhere as it carved a furrow from his jaw to his forehead. The Librarian staggered away, Transhuman blood smearing his eyes and obstructing his vision. Yet before Deesh could strike Memnos leapt in, swinging his chainsword to chew up blubber. He was joined by Cortha, who struck with Dread-hand, yet oddly the weapon had no effect save to make Deesh roar, "I'll kill you, kill you all!"

All this had occurred in the time it took Furion to regain his feet and he surged into the fight, swinging Storm-Heart as hard as he could yet the Borlac took the blow without flinching, leaving only a scorch mark. Furion was appalled by how much damage the Xenos was soaking up and he cried, "Together Brothers, as one!"

The rest of the squad piled in, hacking and stabbing with all their might. They surrounded Deesh in a ring of Transhumans , all seeking his end, but the Borlac would not fall. No matter how they cut and stabbed nothing seemed to be having any effect and in return Deesh swung his hammer in massive sweeps, forcing them to dodge lest they be crushed utterly.

Novak stabbed his sword into a knee joint and cried, "We're not doing enough damage!"

"We need the Sword of Thiel," cried Memnos as he hacked at blubber.

Jediah was trying to jam his blade into the groin as he hissed, "We need bloody Dreadnought Ajax, is what we need."

Deesh roared again and body-slammed his way forward, knocking them all backwards. Furion snarled in anger and jabbed with Storm-heart, scorching the mass of flesh but for all his anger he was having no effect. No matter how they struck nothing could stop Deesh's rampage and all they were doing was irritating him. Furion refused to admit it but deep down he knew it was only a matter of time until the Borlac landed a fatal blow and this fight ended in defeat.

Angrily Persion snarled, "Damn Xenos filth won't fall."

Furion swung his Crozius harder and shouted, "Keep fighting! No mercy, no respite, no fear!"

Axes flashed and knives drew blood as Crozius' flared and chainswords roared. They were unleashing a torrent of blows that should have ended their foe a dozen times over but Deesh merely swept his hammer about trying to catch one of them. "Stop dancing about!" the Borlac roared in frustration as he lifted his electro-hammer high and then brought it down upon the deck head-first. Electro-kinetic forces exploded in all directions, sending the Astartes flying as red lighting ran over their armour's plates. Furion felt the electricity bite as he landed heavily upon his rear. His limbs wracked with agony but he shoved that to one side through sheer force of will and forced his muscles to work, lifting himself up to a seated position.

Instantly Furion saw that the Astartes had been scattered like leaves on the wind. They were down and divided, all save one, for Cortha yet remained standing, facing off against the Borlac all by himself. "Cortha no… he'll kill you," Furion croaked wheezily but his apprentice was not listening. He lifted Dread-Hand in challenge and threw himself at Deesh crying, "For the Emperor!"

Cortha's blow was fast and sure, the Crozius making contact with the Borlac before he could get his guard up. Furion had felt the weapon's cold touch yet Deesh was not slowed by it, its swinish face screwed up in anger and a mad rage was kindled in its beady eyes. Deesh let go of his hammer and swung his paw about in a circular backhand, smashing Cortha right across the head with a blow that shattered his skull-helm. The impact sent Dread-hand flying and the young Chaplain staggered, desperately clawing at his ruined helm to rip it free.

Furion saw the danger and tried to rise up to his feet but he was too slow, too damned slow. Even as he watched Deesh grabbed Cortha in a massive bear hug and lifted him bodily off the ground. The Borlac reared up, raising Cortha high as he trashed helplessly, his hands beating futilely against the rolls of blubber encasing his chest. Muscles the size of demolition charges swelled and its grip tightened with such force that Ceramite armour groaned, cracking under the titanic pressure. Deesh redoubled his efforts, crushing Cortha to death as he roared, "Your pathetic corpse-god doesn't care about you, you are nothing!"

Furion was aghast, he felt like the world was moving in slow motion, playing out in awful clarity before his eyes. Cortha was about to die and he couldn't move fast enough to intervene, after all they had been through he was about to fail his charge. Denial whelmed up within him but there was nothing Furion could do, but Cortha was not yet dead. Even as the titanic pressures bore down upon him Cortha lifted his hands, he drew in a breath and somehow managed to shout, "We are not nothing, we are the Emperor's Storm!" With that he formed the fingers of his left hand into two points and rammed them into Deesh's eyes, right up to the joints. Disgusting optical jelly burst up Cortha's fingers and the Borlac screamed in utter agony as his eyes were destroyed, his wide maw opening to form a huge red pit.

Instantly Cortha drew back his other arm and cried, "We are His wrath!" as he drove his augmetic hand into the top of the Borlac's mouth. Cortha's wicked finger-claws met the thin skin separating the mouth from the braincase and parted it effortlessly, punching through into the grey matter above. Further and further Cortha pushed, first up to his wrist, then the elbow then almost to his pauldron. Now Deesh froze, muscles locking into place as his brain was destroyed. They stood there together for long moments, then Deesh fell backwards, slamming onto the deck with a dull thump as he died. Furion was amazed by the sight and he felt time returning to normal as he jogged over. He saw the Borlac go limp, arms falling away to reveal Cortha, hale and intact. His apprentice was gathering himself up and slowly pulled his arms free, his right limb covered in putrid cranial tissue and dark blood.

Cortha shook off as much filth as he could and said, "Xenos scum didn't want to die."

Furion came and stood beside him saying, "You did it, you beat the Xenos. A most noteworthy kill."

From behind him came the voice of Persion saying, "Noteworthy? That was astonishing, a kill worthy of a laurel of victory."

Arvael rose up concurring, "Quite, I must record this in the Librarius for posterity. We must revise the Chapter's tactical assessments of the Borlac threat."

Furion half-turned and saw the rest of the command squad picking themselves up, along with the survivors of the two squads they had come to rescue. They were battered and bruised but the fire in their eyes was undiminished and their thirst for battle remained unquenched, it would take more than this to cow one of the Emperor's Angels into submission. Arvael in particular had a huge scab running diagonally across his face, from the jaw over a broken nose up to his forehead. A cut like that would leave a scar he would bear for the rest of his life.

Furion's own body was burning hot where his organs were restoring his equilibrium, his mind too was refocussing, his hypno-indoctrination dismissing the stress of this fight in readiness for the next. Yet what he couldn't ignore was that causalities had been heavy, Furion could see four Brothers would not live to see another day. Their gene-seed was being harvested even now but formal last rites would have to wait, yet he carefully made a note of their names for the Scrolls of Honour.

Cortha retrieved Dread-hand and muttered, "I must pay penance for dropping this."

"Indeed," Furion responded, "But not now. Penance and laurels can wait; we've only taken down one group of Xenos. Persion, where's the next fight?"

Persion checked the vox and replied, "Next deck down, we have fights raging all over the ship."

Furion nodded then proclaimed eagerly, "Form up with me Storm Heralds, there are more Xenos out there. We've cleared one deck, only two hundred and eight more to go!"


	45. Chapter 45

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 45**

"More power to the shields!" bellowed Horroway, "Get them back up!"

The crew fought to obey, struggling to get the shields back up. Horroway could see from their frantic struggles that it was a losing battle, the Bonaventure was suffering an onslaught of attacks, coming at her from all directions. Horroway could feel her ship's pain in every impact that vibrated through the hull and every plasma blast that tore through the armour. Never before had she felt a ship in such agony, the Bonaventure was suffering and the torment made the Captain's heart clench in sympathy for her beloved ship.

The wicked shimmy in the drives had turned into a jarring shudder, so fierce one could hear it shaking the air in a droning wail. Crewmen were shouting in desperation, yelling for more power or repair teams to respond. Here and there control consoles were blowing out in cascades of sparks, Horroway had always held that couldn't happen outside of bad dramaturgic pict-vids, but so bad was the feedback it was happening anyway. The Bonaventure was yowling in pain that fact cut her more deeply than a mother listening to a baby's cries.

Finally Robar leapt up and cried, "Shields restored but they won't hold for long!"

Horroway nodded grimly and looked up, assessing the Hololith. Inside she could see the icon of the Thunderchild, still with a Borlac Gun-brig lodged in her flank. She was rolling out of the plane of battle, like a burning aero-craft with its engines on fire. The Astartes vessel was not responding to hails as it drifted further and further away, seemingly having lost all helm control. It was painful to behold, not least because every minute they spent diving was precious time it would take them to get back into the fight and the Space Marine's might was desperately needed.

Elsewhere the Fortune's Fool and her escorts were surrounded by foes, trading fire with a trio of Arsenal ships. The Rogue Trader vessel was outnumbered but her strange shields enhancements were holding up surprisingly well, soaking up their puny gunfire as she responded in kind. Yet the cruel vectors had forced her to break formation, drifting away in her own separate battle. Horroway saw flights of Torpedo-drones pounce upon her, but the last of her fighter squadrons and the Thunderhawks swooped to engage and managed to fend off the attack before it could do anything.

The Bonaventure's own situation was far more perilous. She was facing off against another Gun-Brig and a squadron of Sloops. She was firing furiously but was hard-pressed to survive, her shields being repeatedly knocked down everytime they were restored. The conclusion was inescapable: Acham's forces were pressing in relentlessly to finish this fight.

That thought made Horroway look at the icon of the Hera, Acham's flagship, the madman responsible for all this. His ship lay directly between the Bonaventure and the Mayflower, blocking her path. Acham seemed to think that reaching the great colony ship was Horroway's goal, but he didn't grasp that her objective was only to reach him and stop his mad quest. He had to be thwarted, Horroway knew, they could not allow him to escape to enact his insane plan. She wouldn't allow it, no matter what the cost. The problem was right now she had no idea how to survive the next five minutes.

Horroway turned to Numeta and asked, "Are there any other ships out there still resisting?"

The Binaric avatar affected a sad shake of the head saying, "Nothing left but debris, the only Diasporex ships left are Acham's. All of them are headed this way to join the fight."

"Damn," Horroway swore as her chair rocked from another hit, "Krang, ready the Ceti-disrupter."

The Tarellian called back, "Power levels are dropping, we are draining the capacitors just to keep the plasma batteries firing."

Horroway gritted her teeth and snarled, "Robar, where's my power!"

The man swore inventively and long, pausing only to report, "Reactors are exhausted keeping the shields up, if we divert energy then we lose shields completely. We simply weren't ready for another fight!"

Horroway felt the mounting frustration and she looked for another solution but her thoughts were interrupted as D'ras shouted, "Look, the Mayflower!"

Her head rose and she gasped at what she saw. The vast Colony ship was accelerating, leaving the battle behind. Before her space twisted and distorted, crumpling like a piece of paper being crunched up. Complex gravity fields were being played off against each other, tearing reality apart to reveal what lay beneath, the nightmare otherworld of the Immaterium, that impossible dimension of psychic energy and non-Euclidian geometries known as the Warp.

"They're making Warp-translation," Horroway proclaimed, "No, we can't let them escape!"

But Numeta suddenly shrieked, "Captain, the Hera!"

In the Hololith the vast bulk of the Hera cruised into range, not escaping with her mothership but coming right across the Bonaventure's prow. The battleship's size eclipsed the cruiser to a comical degree and her flanks bore endless stacked rows of plasma annihilators. Firepower enough to break a fleet and each and every one was pointed at the wallowing Bonaventure.

"Brace for impact!" Horroway yelled but barely had the words left her mouth when the Hera fired. A veritable wall of plasma blasts shot forth, filling space with incandescent energy. They struck the Bonaventure and the ship screamed in agony. The shields held for a single second before they popped like a burst balloon, letting streams of deadly energy through. Destructive energy blasts fell upon the cruiser like a tsunami, blasting her armour to scrap and tearing at her compartments below. Wave after wave of plasma impacted the hull, chewing through the superstructure and ripping out the ship's guts.

Power lines were severed and bulkheads were vaporised as crewmen were burned to ash or blown out into the cold vacuum of space. Shuttle bays were turned into raging infernos and fractured fuel lines mixed with bleeding oxygen and ignited. Infirmaries became morgues as atmosphere was sucked out of cracked hatches, leaving the wounded to suffocate to death. Capacitor chambers became death traps as energy coils overloaded, sending eviscerating lightning to incinerate all they touched. Then a plasma blast strayed higher and struck the bridge itself.

Horroway didn't even have time to react as an immense explosion rocked the bridge, throwing crewmen aside as flames erupted everywhere. Screams arose in a dozen different languages as the shockwave flung crewmen away in tangles of limbs and detonating consoles became flying shrapnel, tearing soft flesh to ribbons. The violence and the noise were shocking, a scene from a vision of hell. Then the support beams failed and the roof fell in.

Horroway barely had time to look up as an avalanche of smashed metal dropped into the centre of the bridge bringing broken supports and smashed debris down upon her. She tried to scream but there was no time, she could only hold her arms above her head in a pathetic attempt to stave off the avalanche. She felt crushing weights smashing into her fragile body, breaking her bones, then something heavier than anything else hit her and knocked her insensible.

Horroway was lost in a crazed world of spinning colours and muffled sounds. Distant noises echoed in her ears but they made no sense, a meaningless stream of babbled words and crashing dins. Lights flashed in her eyes and her thoughts were sluggish, she couldn't understand what was happening to her, she couldn't even recall her own name.

There was no way to tell how long she dwelt in that twilight reality but at last the fog in her mind began to clear and the world stopped spinning. Words began to make sense again but she couldn't see a thing and it slowly dawned upon her that her eyes were closed. She blearily opened them, feeling like grit was caught her eyelids and blinked furiously to see what was happening.

Horroway tried to sit up but was unable to move, her waist pinned by some immense weight. She lifted her head and saw that a support beam had fallen across the command pedestal, pinning her down. One glance was enough to see that it was too heavy to lift on her own, to saw it in half would require cutting gear. Unfortunately that might not be a good idea for Horroway could feel a growing coldness in her body, she was already shivering and had lost all sensation below her middle. She knew that wasn't good, with a strange sense of detached clarity she concluded she had internal injuries and the weight of the beam may be all that was keeping her from bleeding out.

Unable to stand Horroway turned her head to look about the bridge and what she beheld was a world of smoke and fire. Consoles had been smashed by falling debris, dead bodies were strewn everywhere and flames licked at the corners of the room. Alarms were blaring ceaselessly and cries of pain and distress were everywhere, along with calls from the uninjured, who were looking for lost comrades.

She couldn't see any station that was still working, the static-filled consoles and burbling alarms told her that, yet there was still a light shining in her eyes. She realised it was Numeta, still hovering over her but the Binaric avatar didn't look any better than the bridge.

She was fizzing and restarting, randomly jumping from stance to stance without passing through any intermediate position, like a pict-reel that had jammed in a loop. Her speech was a babble, not matching her lip movements as she intoned, "Emergency… emergency… condition black… emergency… It's an impractical suggestion anyway, the odds of the Diasporex winning a ground war with the Imperium are 0.0001%… cascade overload building in the Warp Drive… emergency… officers down in command… can anyone hear me… can anyone hear me… I'm not happy either, I know what the Imperium does to synthetic life but what choice do we have… officers down in command… condition black… emergency… cascade overload building in the Warp Drive… emergency… emergency… emergency…"

Horroway weakly lifted her arm and croaked, "Help me."

But Numeta didn't respond, still continuing her mindless drone, "Emergency… emergency… condition black… emergency… The Diasporex is constitutionally opposed to ground-war, we have never sought it deliberately…. Emergency…"

Horroway had no strength let to shout for help but a blur of movement drew her eye and she turned her head, sending a wave of sickness through her. Suddenly the blue face of D'ras appeared, looming into her field of view. The Number One had a cut across his face, but he was otherwise uninjured and able to move. He knelt by his Captain and hissed, "Captain, are you alright?"

Horroway looked up at him and slurred, "D'ras… is there anyone else left?"

D'ras blinked then nodded frantically and said, "Robar's still alive as is Krang but the junior officers… there are barely any of them left."

Weakly Horroway gasped, "You have to take command..."

"No, you're not dying here!" D'ras cried and desperately tried to grasp the beam pinning the Captain down. It was pointless though, the beam was far too heavy for him to lift, even had he a team of helpers. All he could do was desperately fling his thin arms against the weight, his feeble body unable to budge it a jot.

Horroway forced a shivering hand to D'ras' arm and she whispered, "It's pointless… I'm done for. You have to save the Bonaventure… that's all that matters."

D'ras went limp and his eyes closed, "Captain, there's nothing left to save. We have no power and we have runaway overloads building in Warp Drive. Numeta is broken in ways I can't understand and we can't reach anyone on the other decks. The Bonaventure is dead already."

Horroway's mind was starting to drift again, a sense of darkness edging her thoughts but she managed to slur, "Then… it's up to you…"

D'ras opened his eyes and said, "How? What can I do?"

Darkness was swelling up behind her eyes, taking her away from this world but Horroway whispered, "Stop Acham… you have to stop him no matter what… please find your strength and make a way…"

D'ras lowered his head and cried, "I can't do it, there must be someone else."

Horroway couldn't see anymore she didn't even know if her lips were moving but she tried anyway, whispering, "You're all… that's left…"

Then the darkness consumed her and Janna Horroway left this reality behind. Her life ended amid the ruins and wreckage of her own bridge and she died in the place she had loved most in life.


	46. Chapter 46

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 46**

The Captain was dead; he couldn't believe it even though he could see it with his own eyes. Captain Horroway was dead and everything was lost. Robar felt a surge of disbelief swell up within him, the sight of her broken body was impossible to countenance, it was utterly wrong. Robar stared as D'ras reached out and closed the Captain's eyes then slowly stood up. The bridge was still filled with flickering fires and harsh smoke while Numeta jerked and twitched, repeating her warnings on an endless loop. Yet there was no disguising the painful truth, their Captain was dead and the whole universe seemed bereft of hope without her.

Robar swallowed to soothe his smoke-charred throat and said, "What do we do now D'ras?"

"Captain D'ras," the Tau stated, "You have to call me Captain now."

Robar threw up his hands and said, "Fine, whatever. It makes no difference now."

D'ras turned to face him and spat, "Get a grip, I need you focussed."

Robar exhaled wearily and said, "Don't you get what's happening? The Bonaventure is dead, we're powerless and adrift."

D'ras stated coldly, "Don't tell me what we don't have, tell me what's left."

Robar thought it was pointless but he bent over one of the still functional consoles. He summoned a damage report but what he saw made him wince. He sighed loudly, "Do you want the bad news or the worse news?"

"Tell me," D'ras said dispassionately.

Robar declared, "Reactor six is operational but there's no power coming through. The plasma-conduits are smashed. That's the bad news, the worse news is the Warp-Drive is building to critical mass. It's a runaway overload, I can't stop it, the drive will breach no matter what I do."

D'ras paused for a moment then asked, "Can you restore power to the realspace drives?"

Robar's jaw fell and he snapped, "Didn't you hear what I said? The warp-drive is going to breach, we are about to be in the centre of a rupture in the Materium! When it goes the fabric of reality itself will be ripped to shreds, we have to get off this ship!"

D'ras said icily, "I asked: can you fix the realspace drives?"

"You can't be serious," Robar exclaimed.

Then Krang stepped up and growled, "Answer the question."

Robar pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "Maybe… but I can't reroute power from here. I have to get to the enginarium."

"Then go," D'ras ordered sternly, "All other nonessential hands to the escape pods."

Robar blinked at the order but then nodded and walked out of the broken hatch to the bridge. Beyond he found the same ruination, for debris and bodies were strewn everywhere. It was harrowing to witness, so much of his life had been spent here. All his efforts poured into this ship, ever since he had fled from the Mechanicus. Mournfully Robar made his way further into the ship, lamenting every broken spar and circuit. He passed a variety of hatches and passageways, all equally devastated and as he did so he thumbed his cog icon and muttered, "Omnissiah grant me just one working transit capsule."

As if in answer to his prayer he stumbled upon a capsule, sitting open and inviting. He practically threw himself inside and jabbed the rune for the Enginarium, sending the pod hurtling downwards. Robar had no idea if he was about to slam into some debris clogging the tube but there were no other options save to hold on and pray. Thankfully the capsule's journey was smooth and untroubled and he emerged just outside the Enginarium. Death had come here too, a broken vision of flames and smoke awaiting him. Slain crewmen were piled high but thankfully some were left alive. Robar hastened off to the side and grabbed a hanging enviro-suit, the heavy leathers and cast-iron helmet paltry protection against the devastation but it was better than nothing. Robar cursed every second it took to lug on the heavy suit but finally he was ready and clomped his way into the Enginarium.

Inside Robar found the space, where the towering reactors waited, to be in a state of clamour. Engineers of various races were running back and forth in a desperate attempt to salvage anything. He grabbed a passing crewman, a Deimurg by his stance though he didn't know the being's name and shouted over the din, "What's happening?"

The crewman turned and yelled, "Reactors are cold chief, we're trying to switch to emergency capacitor reserves."

"Waste of time," Robar hollered back, "Number six is functioning; we should be repairing the plasma conduits."

"Plasma conduits are shot," the crewman yelled.

"What about the back-ups?" Robar shouted.

"The control relays are stuck and the controls aren't responding," the crewman replied, "There's a hyper-coolant leak in the control chamber, nothing can survive that cold."

Robar let go of the Deimurg and eyed a heavy hatch, sealed shut with a rim of frost. Behind that door were the emergency manual triggers for the back-up relays, the connections between the reactors and the ship's systems. Yet the hyper-coolant leaking inside would be perilous indeed, the odds of survival so low he couldn't guess them. Then he thought of the poor Bonaventure and all he had done over the years to tend to the magnificent ship. All that time and love poured into her systems, he had invested so much of his life into her that leaving her to die was unthinkable.

Robar made a decision and strode over to the hatch, making the sign of the blessed cog as he did so. He grabbed a wench and then turned a heavy wheel-lock, opening the hatch. Ice spilled from the rim as the door opened and he stepped inside. Instantly a wave of bone-chilling frost slammed into him. The door slammed shut behind him, locking him in and a second later frantic thumping began echoing as the crew realised what he'd done. The air was filled with icy mists and the floor was awash with hyper coolant but Robar stepped out and through his heavy mask saw three large wheel-handles. The manual releases for the relays, all encrusted with thick ice. Robar heard the thumping increase and voices began calling out, "Chief no, it'll kill you! Don't do it!" but he ignored them.

Robar couldn't feel his feet already but he lumbered forward and grabbed the first wheel. He jerked it upwards but the wheel was frozen solid. His hands had gone numb but Robar lifted his wrench and struck the thick ice, breaking some off and as he did so chanted, "No truth in flesh, only the Machine is pure." Again he struck and intoned, "The flesh is weak, only the Machine is strong," at that the ice broke off and he could turn the wheel to the open position.

His legs were frozen blocks now and his heart was thumping in his chest but he stumbled on and smacked the ice encrusting the next wheel as he chanted, "No constancy in flesh, only the Machine is faithful." Ice showered free as the wheel spun, he tried to let go but his hands weren't responding and his breath was misting his helmet, making it hard to see. He forced his hand free with a sharp yank then turned to the last wheel.

Thin voices were crying from afar, "Get out of there, get out!" but Robar could barely hear them, so cold was his head. His vision was a smear of grey but he kept going and stumbled into the last wheel. He couldn't open his hands now, but he struck the wheel and cried, "The flesh dies but the Machine is eternal!"

Ice cracked and he tried to grab the wheel but his hands wouldn't respond. His guts were clenching and his breath came in ragged bursts but he forced his arm through the spokes and heaved upwards. Slowly the wheel began to turn but Robar's strength was failing, weakness filling him from head to toe. Robar gritted his shivering teeth and leaned all his weight on the wheel chanting, "Only the Machine is forever, only the Machine is righteous. I tend to thee with sacred unguents and soothe thee with sacred ritual, oh blessed device, hear my plea and awaken!"

Suddenly the wheel jerked free and spun into position, letting Robar drop face-first into the freezing hyper-coolant. Thunderous noises suddenly erupted, as power poured through the relays, energy flooding from the reactor into the damaged systems of the ship. Robar heard none of it though, for could hear nothing anymore. The coolant had covered him head to toe and the chill of it had stolen his life in a heartbeat. Robar was left a frozen statue, entombed among the machines he had given his all to yet his death was not in vain.

High above the cold grave of Robar the bridge lit up, consoles awakening at last. Information began streaming in and the Bonaventure stirred. Slowly the dead ship came back to life, not much but enough for the crew to restore a fraction of functionality. Working under a broken console, D'ras jerked up in surprise and called out, "Robar did it, we have power!"

Krang hurried over to a glowing console and examined it before calling, "We have minimal engine power and some sensor capacity."

D'ras nodded and said, "Numeta?"

Krang shook his snout and said, "Not a chance."

D'ras glanced at the Binaric avatar who was still mindlessly chanting a litany of distress then said, "Give me sensors."

The Hololith frizzed into blurry life, revealing the scene outside. The Bonaventure was drifting aimlessly out of the realm of battle, ignored by the triumphant forces of Acham's fleet. They were going after the Fortune's Fool now, who was beating a hasty retreat from the battle at best speed. It was not an act of cowardice, the lone cruiser was totally outmatched and staying would be suicide.

Yet D'ras' eyes were fixed on the icon of the Hera, which was making a lumbering turn with the ponderousness only battleships could know. She was being left behind by the fight, trailing along all alone. Of the Mayflower there was no sign; D'ras could only assume that she had fled into the Immaterium.

D'ras' eyes narrowed and he pressed, "Status of the Warp-Drive?"

Krang checked but stated in dismay, "The overload is still building. Robar was right, a reality breach is inevitable, nothing can stop it."

D'ras nodded solemnly and said, "Then our course is clear. Push whatever power we have to the engines and point us at the Hera, then give me one continuous burn. Take us right at them."

Krang's scaly jaw fell for a moment but then his resolve hardened and he bent to the console as he said, "Aye aye... Captain."

Sluggishly the Bonaventure turned, her prow moving sluggishly as her thrusters fought inertia. Infinitely slowly the Bonaventure came to bear and then the ship jerked as the realspace engines propelled her forward. D'ras stared at the growing icon of the Hera, desperately thrusting away, but too still slowly to escape. Emergency thrusters began to fire all over the Jupiter-class ship but her mass was too great, she couldn't hope to evade the collision and her compatriots were too far away to intervene.

D'ras watched without blinking and asked calmly, "Time to Warp-drive overload?"

Krang reported, "Two minutes."

D'ras glanced at him and said, "You might still be able to reach an escape pod."

Krang clacked his jaw and retorted, "I would never get clear of the breach, besides I want to see how this ends.

D'ras accepted this and looked at Numeta but the Binaric being could only stutter, "Emergency... emergency... condition black... emergency."

D'ras returned his gaze to the Hololith and declared, "We die but our end will be Acham's too. He won't live to spread his madness to the other Nomad-fleets, the Diasporex will survive elsewhere."

Krang added, "Death holds no fear for the brave and this is as fine a way to die as any. For the future and my clan."

D'ras watched as they closed on the Hera, the mighty battleship looming in the Hololith. The collision was but seconds away and he doubted he would survive the impact, but that hardly mattered for he certainly wouldn't survive the reality breach that would follow soon after. Yet his eyes did not waver and his expression was as steel and he whispered, "For the Greater Good and for Unity."


	47. Chapter 47

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 47**

The Borlac fell before him, its head a smoking and charred mess. Furion looked upon it, Storm-heart fritzing in his hand as its Spirit protested at the severe drain on its energy reserves. The Chaplain was breathing hard, his body straining after the hard fight. By his side the rest of the squads gathered themselves up, kicking over the corpses of Aliens to check they were really dead.

The battle inside the Thunderchild had been raging for some time, the Storm Heralds clearing deck after deck one fight at a time. The violence had been shocking and brutal, even to Space Marines, but they had adapted. The Borlac threat demanded a concentration of might to counter effectively and Furion had gathered as much of Third Company together as he could into one force. It had cost them many serf lives but the balance had shifted in the Astartes' favour and with overwhelming might they had crushed the Borlac invaders one group at a time.

Furion looked about and called, "Was that the last?"

Persion checked the vox and replied, "The last large group, but signs are individual survivors have fled into the guts of the ship."

Furion nodded and ordered, "All squads form up into hunting teams, no less than two squads per party. We can't allow any alien filth live."

The various squads were noticeably missing Brothers but they hastily formed up and prepared to deploy. Yet before they could press on Arvael suddenly lurched like a drunk and pressed one hand to his scarred face. Furion hurried to his side and heard him muttering, "Thou shalt not pass for He is my light and my guide. I shall suffer no trespass in His name."

Furion grabbed the Librarian and said, "What's wrong?"

Arvael shook his head, still covered in a long scab and said, "The Warp intrudes into reality, a rift forms."

Furion gripped his Crozius tighter and stepped back, worried that the Librarian had fallen prey to a Daemon and was about to burst open to let out a horde of nightmares. Yet suddenly the whole ship swayed and Furion was sent staggering as the Thunderchild rocked back and forth.

There was a moment of bewildering motion and then the ship steadied and Persion cried, "What was that?"

Unexpectedly the vox burst into life and Toran's voice came forth, "Chaplain Furion, report to the bridge immediately!"

Furion complied and said, "Command squad with me. Cortha, you're in charge, hunt down any remaining Borlac and show no mercy."

"Yes Master," the apprentice replied briskly.

From the deck Memnos was tending to a wounded Brother, clamping off a spurting artery as he said, "I'm staying to tend to the wounded."

"As you will," Furion declared, "Everyone else with me."

With that they headed out, seeking a transit capsule. Soon they found one and he strode in, followed by Novak, Jediah, Persion and Arvael, who seemed to be recovered. Nobody spoke as they ascended, for there was nothing to do but wonder what had happened. Finally they arrived and Furion raced into the bridge to find a scene of furious activity.

Serfs were labouring over their stations as servitors chattered mindlessly. Everywhere panels and floor plates had been removed to expose arcane mechanisms so that Enginseers could tend to the ailing Machine Spirits. The air was thick with incense and the scent of blessed unguents as sacraments were carefully applied to the sparking wires and broken circuits. Libations were offered and Binaric psalms chanted in a passionless monotone as red-robed adepts made the sign of the cog. Only once all the ritual observances had been conducted were the broken parts removed and replaced with undamaged components.

Standing beside the Sensorium was Techmarine Hevostan, directing the repairs and snapping at serfs, "That servitor is dead already, don't waste time trying to restore something that needs replacing completely. You there, no not you, him to the left, that's a conductor of the motive force you're cutting into not optical data-cabling, one more snip and you'll be electrocuted. You over there, who taught you to just chuck sacred unguents about so randomly? Apply the incense in timed intervals of the holy prime sequence: one, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen!"

Nearby Captain Toran was up to his elbows in a sparking console, his command of tech-mysteries was limited but like all Astartes, he had a passing familiarity with field-repairs and so it seemed he had been trusted with some small restorations. Toran saw the group enter and straightened to call out, "What kept you?"

Furion strode over and replied, "The lower decks had to be cleared, search teams are sweeping for lingering foes even now."

"Excellent work," Toran said in satisfaction.

"You missed one hell of a good fight," Novak chipped in.

"I can see that," Toran remarked staring at Arvael, "What happened to your face?"

"Tis but a scratch," the Librarian stated dismissively.

Persion cut in to say, "So what happened to the ship?"

Toran replied, "We've stabilised the helm and arrested the spin, Auspex should be coming back anytime now."

"Weapons?" Jediah butted in to inquire.

Hevostan called over irately, "I'm a Techmarine, not a glitching miracle worker, I can only work so fast!"

Furion agreed, "Weapons are worthless if we can't see what's occurred. Hevostan, pray continue your labours."

Hevostan knelt beside the low circle plinth of the Sensorium, muttering under his breath about organic impatience. He did something arcane to the mechanisms beneath the device and then the projector lenses began to shine, throwing up a hazy image into the air. Furion squinted as he tried to discern anything but Hevostan's hand came up and thumped the side of the plinth hard and the image sprang into sharp clarity. Hevostan straightened up and said, "It's a bodge job, but it will have to do until I can retrieve my ceremonial robes and conduct a Sacred Mass."

Furion however was staring at the Hololith and was shocked by what he saw. The Thunderchild was seemingly all alone in the void, with nothing save spinning debris and cooling gases to be seen. There was no sign of the fleets they had been battling and space was bereft of foes. Furion could see the readings of dissipating energies everywhere but of the vessels that had been fighting there was nothing left but scrap. Novak stared upwards and wondered, "What happened while we were blinded?"

Persion stepped up to the Sensorium and pressed a sequence of runes saying, "The Hololith was dead but the auspexes themselves never stopped recording, they just couldn't talk to each other… so if I do this."

Hevostan sounded infuriated as he snapped, "Those are not sanctified adjustments!"

"Trust me I know what I'm doing," the communication specialist retorted then cried, "Wait, I've got it!"

Suddenly the Hololith blanked out and reset, presenting an image of the battle zone as it was while the Thunderchild was blinded. Furion knew he was effectively looking into the past but was fascinated to see the scene play out before him. The Thunderchild had drifted much further than he had anticipated, coasting well beyond engagement range. Behind them the battle raged on, the rag-tag remnants of their forces battling against insurmountable odds. The Bonaventure was facing off against the target battleship, identified as the Hera, while the Fortune's Fool was embattled by numerous foes. In the background the vast leviathan of the Diasporex colony ship was plunging into a swirling vortex of lurid colours and bulging folds that should have been impossible in the empty void. Even as they watched the ship submerged itself in the whirlpool, exiting this reality and thrusting into the twisted dimensions of the Empyrean.

"By the Maelstrom," Jediah swore, "They got away."

"Wait," Furion said watching in rapt attention.

As they looked on the Bonaventure was targeted by the battleship, suffering an onslaught of plasma blasts that left her dead in the void. Left to fend for herself the Fortune's Fool beat a hasty retreat, unable to intervene in the face of the victorious opposition. For long minutes she was chased by the Diasporex fleet, running as fast as she could before their guns. Furion tried to understand what could have happened to change this state of affairs but then the wreckage of the Bonaventure suddenly sprang back into life, thrusting towards the Hera.

Persion started as he exclaimed, "Reading huge power spike…"

Furion could see it in the display but he watched in silence as the crippled Bonaventure charged after the battleship. The Hera began attempting evasive manoeuvres but she was too big and too slow to dodge. A few desultory bursts of fire were discharged but the cruiser was in her rear quadrant and the mighty guns could not draw a bead. Even as they watched the Bonaventure closed into point-blank range, and then just before they collided everything changed.

It began as a spear of achingly bright light, bisecting the cruiser like a pin through an insect. The Bonaventure was obliterated by the explosion, shattered into a billion pieces that spun away from each other. For an instant the light shone then and then it bulged outwards, refracting into every colour imaginable and many more that weren't possible.

"A Warp-drive overload," Hevostan gasped in horror.

"This is no planned translation but a breach in the Materium itself, a rift into the unfettered Warp," Arvael muttered, "That's what I sensed."

Furion had heard of such things but never had thought to witness it himself. Even as he watched the mad ball of colours swelled exponentially, hungrily consuming space. The rift was roughly spherical but Furion was certain that he could see claws and tentacles and inhuman faces rising and falling along the event horizon, as unspeakable horrors sought to leave their immaterial existence and become real. In a heartbeat the breach swept over the Hera, engulfing it entirely. The battleship was still visible for a few seconds but seemed wrapped in countless tendrils that cocooned it end to end and dragged it away, its crew fated for eternal suffering as the playthings of Daemons. Then it was gone, leaving no trace the Hera had ever existed.

The rift wasn't done yet for it expanded outwards, overwhelming ship after ship. Arsenal ships, gun-brigs and sloops were all ensnared by the grasping claws of Daemons and dragged away, gutting their fleet. Those furthest from the event were still buffeted by it, bobbing about in the vacuum like oceanic vessels in a heavy swell.

"Gravity waves," Hevostan stated as if it were an abstract fact, "That's what hit us."

Persion gasped, "If we'd been a little bit closer we would have been dragged in too..."

He didn't have to finish for the consequences were obvious to all, the rift was snaring everything it could, dragging ship after ship into its lurid maw. A few vessels tried to flee, turning their sterns away and thrusting for all they were worth. Lashing Daemonic tentacles burst out the event horizon and plunged after the fleeing vessels and they managed to ensnare one sloop, which was pulled into the rift despite its engines frantically burning at their maximum. The rift had consumed almost everything now but at last it faltered, the laws of Material existence finally overcoming its Immaterial nature. The harsh touch of reality bit hard and the rift began to shrink, becoming smaller and smaller. It shrank to the size of a single ship, then a shuttle, then a pinhead before vanishing entirely. In its wake was left nothing but raw void, a hollow sphere of nothingness where once rivals had fought to the death.

Furion let out a breath and said, "It is over."

"That's it?" Novak asked, "The battle is over, just like that?"

Furion nodded and said, "The Bonaventure sacrificed itself to end the fight."

"They wiped out most of the enemy fleet singlehanded," Persion declared, "Surprisingly honourable of them."

Furion demurred, "Perhaps, but do not harbour sympathy for the alien-lovers. What matters is that the battle is over and the threat to the Emperor's realm is eliminated."

"So what now?" Novak asked.

Toran drew himself up and said, "Now we fix the ship and make sure none of the survivors get away. Also we should attempt to contact the Fortune's Fool, there's a chance she might have reached a safe distance."

Furion concurred, "You all heard the order, there's plenty left to do yet, get to work Space Marines."


	48. Chapter 48

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 48**

"So, in conclusion, the mission was a success," Toran declared confidently.

Saffor started in surprise and exclaimed, "But our Diasporex allies died!"

"As I said," Toran replied, "A success."

The Rogue Trader looked shocked but Furion understood what the Captain meant and explained, "They were alien-lovers, any alliance with could only be temporary. Had they not died in battle we probably would have been ordered to hunt them down and execute them ourselves."

Saffor shook his head in disbelief, seemingly appalled by the Space Marine's attitude. They were currently stood in the Thunderchild's landing bay, now restored to operational status. In fact the whole ship was slowly coming back to life, her wounds being tended to and her systems being soothed with reverent repairs. Furion had spent the last days overseeing the purge of any Borlac survivors lurking in the bilges while Captain Toran had commanded a search for the Fortune's Fool. Thankfully the Rogue Trader's vessel had been well out of range when the Diasporex was destroyed, thus escaping the warp-drive overload. The Thunderchild had made best speed after the vessel and caught up, then together they had swept the area for any lingering threats.

In the landing bay itself Toran, Furion and the Command Squad had met with Rogue Trader Teliday and Inquisitor Vevara, who seemed to be standing rather close to each other. Furion didn't know what they were plotting but he would be glad to see the back of them, this mission had been far too complicated for his liking. Vevara had switched out her bodgyglove for a long green gown and she looked up at the Astartes and asked, "What of the survivors?"

Toran replied, "We detected a handful of Diasporex ships fleeing into the asteroid belts of the Dulcis system. They won't get far, Auspex is picking up high energy discharges, it looks like lurking Orks took them by surprise. I doubt any will escape."

"Orks," Vevara spat, "They are still a lingering threat, the Navy will have to cleanse this system end to end."

"The convoy we dispatched should help with that," Furion declared, "The shipyards soon will be back to operating at full capacity with those resources."

"It is certainly needed," Toran declared, "The Imperium desperately requires every ship it can get in these dark times."

Saffor looked thoughtful and inquired, "What of the escape pods?"

Furion replied, "We have collected hundreds of them from the void, the human survivors seem shocked and confused but we will deliver them to Tectum for processing. We have dispatched Astropathic messages asking the Administratum to prepare internment camps and re-education programmes. They will be taught the error of their ways and brought into the glorious Imperial fold… or they will die."

"But what of the aliens themselves?" Saffor asked.

"We shot them all," Toran declared proudly.

Saffor went a little green but Vevara scowled and said, "The Inquisition would have liked to question them first, there's no telling what secrets they may have revealed."

Furion responded smoothly, "The Emperor intended Mankind to dominate the stars, not share them. Mixing with aliens would sully the noble purity of the human form. Look at the Diasporex, they trusted aliens and paid the price. Never have I been more assured of the righteousness of the Emperor's decrees."

Saffor commented snidely, "Wasn't it a human who led the betrayal?"

Arvael spoke up saying, "His mind was polluted by Xenos corruption, familiarity with the alien invites heretical thinking."

Saffor looked like he would argue the point but Furion cut in saying, "Inquisitor, I trust our actions here satisfy your demands?"

Vevara nodded and said, "Indeed, I have contacted the Lord Inquisitors via Astropath, Zerban's death alone would make them smile but we also destroyed the Ork Hulk and the Diasporex too. Not to mention the countless expended Drones we scooped up, there's a certain Tech-priest chomping at the bit to get his hands on those. You wouldn't believe what Belisarius Cawl was willing to trade for the Decoy-drones. The Inquisitor Lords are ecstatic; if they weren't all such sour-faced prunes then I suspect they would be jumping for joy."

"And your Carta Extremis?" Toran pressed.

"Consider it rescinded," Vevara replied candidly, "We won't be declaring you outcast ourselves, but I can't speak for all the Imperium. There are others out there who truly hate you."

Furion skipped over that and said, "A shame the big ship escaped, once it translated into the Warp we had no way to track it. I would have preferred a clean sweep of our enemies, they may return to plague us in the future."

Yet Toran commented, "Without their fleets they won't get far, they can't possibly present a threat to the Imperium with only one ship."

Furion didn't share his confidence but Saffor sighed loudly and asked, "What's next for you lads?"

Toran replied, "We will return the prisoners to Tectum, then set course for Lujan II. Our Techmarine laments the damage to the Thunderchild and she will require a lengthy refit. Digging that damned scow out of our flank will require a drydock and then our port hull will need to be completely rebuilt."

Saffor remarked with a grin, "So you will have some time to kick back and relax."

Furion corrected him sternly, "Our Chapter has many Strike Cruisers and Third Company has been ordered to redeploy to secure Odiosis. There are signs the Psybrid menace stirs from its lair."

Saffor's jaw dropped and he exclaimed, "You've just been through one blood-soaked meatgrinder and all you can think about is the next war?"

"Of course," Furion stated frankly, "What else is there?"

Saffor grimaced and muttered, "If I live to be five hundred years old I will never understand you Space Marines."

Toran changed the subject asking, "And where will you be going next?"

Vevara smiled and answered, "We are going to sail together for a time, I have to return Sadik to his post and then we will take the Fortune's Fool out into Wilderness space."

"You have a new mission?" Toran inquired.

Now Saffor did laugh as he retorted, "Throne no, we're going exploring. There's more to life than duty and honour you know."

Stares of blank incomprehension were his only response as Furion and Toran tried to process that nonsensical declaration. Sometimes mortals did come out with the daftest notions. Furion eventually settled on saying, "We wish you fair sailing and many victories."

Saffor bowed Vevara nodded briskly and then they turned and strode off.

The Space Marines waited until the pair boarded an Aquilla lander and took off in a cloud of thruster exhaust. Then Toran shook his head and said, "What a strange man."

"He should be wary of trusting that Inquisitor," Furion remarked, "She would sell him out in a heartbeat."

Toran sighed and turned to face the command Squad, Jediah, Novak, Persion, Arvael and Cortha all standing in a line with their helms off. He faced them and declared, "Brothers you have done well, we have walked a perilous line between death and dishonour but emerged victoriously. You have my thanks and praise. Consider yourselves dismissed."

Jediah scowled and said, "This has all been far too complicated for my tastes, you know what I say?"

Novak grinned and proclaimed, "Let me guess, you want a nice straightforward war to whet your blade's edge."

Jediah started in surprise and said, "How did you know I was going to say that?"

Persion laughed, "You always say that."

Jediah looked concerned as he muttered, "I do? I had not realised…"

Toran led them out of the bay, still bantering back and forth and Furion was pleased by their comradery but he said, "Cortha, a word."

His apprentice paused and asked, "Master, is there a problem?"

Furion looked upon the young Chaplain, who was blooded and scarred but all the fiercer for it. Furion held up one hand and explained, "Far from it, I seek to congratulate you."

"Congratulate?" Cortha replied in confusion, "I don't understand."

Furion looked down kindly and informed him, "You have excelled above my expectations and have proven yourself to be more than a fierce warrior. You have led a Company when required, counselled grieving Brothers, performed rituals observances flawlessly, stirred hearts and adjudicated disputes with wisdom and impartiality. You have passed every test and are ready to stand alone. I have contacted Chapter Master Phalros and he concurs that you are ready. When we return home you shall be reassigned to Captain Cyvo and the Second Company, as their Chaplain."

Cortha looked stunned and replied, "I… I am surprised and grateful. Thank you."

"Do not thank me," Furion demurred, "You have earned this by your own merit. Know that I shall be following your career with great pride."

Cortha bowed slightly, "Nevertheless I thank you, I shall never forget this time."

Furion smiled and said, "Go on then, I can tell you're eager to go tell everybody. Take a moment to share the Brotherhood of the others, just don't let Novak make too many jests."

Cortha bowed again and then left in hurry, chasing the Command Squad with an eager spring. Furion watched him depart and was proud of his young apprentice; it seemed hard to believe that he had ever doubted Cortha's ability. Furion felt he too had learned from their time together, a reminder that he was but a humble guide and should be proud of the progress of others. The thought of that reminded Furion he had one other duty to discharge, one he hesitated to perform but could not turn aside from.

Furion made his way to the rear of the landing bay and ascended a flight of steps, to emerge in the prow observation gallery. Here he found Memnos, staring out into the dark void as if counting the stars themselves. The Apothecary heard him coming and glanced backwards as he said, "There you are."

Furion marched up to stand beside him and replied, "Thank you for waiting for me."

Memnos returned his gaze to the stars and stated, "You said you wanted to speak to me in private."

"Yes…" Furion murmured, "How fare our Brothers?"

Memnos raised a curious eyebrow but informed him, "Injuries abound, I've never seen so many crushed bones and broken skulls. Those Borlac hit bloody hard. I thank the Emperor for Astartes' enhanced physiology or casualties would have been horrific."

Furion replied, "You too are owed some thanks, your labours saved many lives."

Memnos turned to face him and spoke, "Furion you didn't ask me here to discuss casualty reports."

Furion couldn't face him, keeping his eyes fixed straight forward as he explained, "I too owe you a debt."

"Oh?" Memnos uttered, "How so?"

The words sat heavily in the back of his throat but Furion knew them to be true and would not deny them as he uttered, "You spoke truth to me, you alone dared to tell me I was in the wrong. I was failing as a mentor and as a guide, festering in resentment and lashing out at others for my own failures. Fear, I see it now, I was afraid of failing as a teacher and Astartes must know no fear. I must thank you for setting me straight."

"No thanks are necessary," Memnos averred, "Duty is its own reward."

"But I…" Furion countered turning to face the Apothecary.

Memnos held up his Chains of Shame to their eye level and declared, "I deserve not your forgiveness, nor do I warrant praise or thanks. I have done far worse things than you can ever imagine and I deserved your scorn. Glory and honour are ashes to me; henceforth I will only serve others, whether it is as a healer, warrior or truth-speaker. It is the least I can do."

"Your shame is genuine and you accept it with humility," Furion commented, "I cannot forgive you for your crimes, not out of scorn, but because only the Emperor can judge you. For my part I can only say that I will not dismiss your concerns ever again, continue to speak the truth and I shall be content to stand beside you in battle as a Brother."

"That I can accept," Memnos stated, "We shall keep each other honest."

"Very well," Furion agreed, "Between us we will keep this Company pure and righteous."

Memnos looked into the stars once more and remarked, "It is good to have you back again Furion, I missed your wisdom."

Furion joined him, staring at the distant stars and proclaimed, "Whatever the future brings we shall face it with courage and honour."


	49. Chapter 49

**Ignis in Vacui Chapter 49**

The atrium was burning, a thick black smoke that stung the eyes and lingered on the tongue. It stained the delicate stonework of the buildings and left greasy black marks up the walls. Across the floor bodies were piled high, left in whatever poses they had fallen in. Notably all humans.

S'sner paid them no mind, her focus entirely upon the gaggle of humans cowering in the corner. They were an assorted bunch of females, elderly and young, lacking arms or armour. They were huddled together in fear, looking at the Orreti males who were pointing purloined lasrifles in a way that left no doubt as to their willingness to use them. S'sner felt nothing but contempt for these wretches, those too slow and stupid to flee in the Mayflower's escape pods, before she leapt into the Warp. Now their fate was sealed.

S'sner watched as a rival Orreti female and her brood of males dragged a few more humans into the group, all of them injured and broken. They grasped onto those already present and pleaded for answers. S'sner felt her loathing increase, to Orreti ears human speech was a disgusting medley of chewing noises and wet slurps, it was offensive to be subjected to such mewling bleating.

S'sner checked no more guards were coming then waved to her kin and said in her own language, "Take aim."

The humans may not have understood the words but they understood the raising of the lasrifles and and one female pleaded, "No, please we've done nothing to you, we don't…."

"Fire!" S'sner barked angrily.

The male Orreti obeyed, the weapons while being clumsy in their claws were no less deadly for it. A sharp burst of las-fire erupted, cutting down the prisoners and then it was over, the humans were dead, right down to the last female and youngling. S'sner felt her jaw let out a trickle of drool and she bent over to scoop up a bloody piece of meat, an arm severed from its body. Her sharp fangs tore off a piece and she swallowed eagerly, wolfing down the fatty gristle.

The Orreti were carnivorous by nature, and they especially favoured primate flesh as a delicacy. Being among the Diasporex had been like being surrounded by a smorgasbord of walking treats, denying the impulse to feast had been frustrating indeed. S'sner relished at last being able to indulge her cravings, though a primal instinct arose saying live meat was better than dead. But S'sner suppressed it, they weren't savages after all.

Once she had her fill she waved to her males, who were also snacking on the corpses and asked, "Iz that the lazt?"

"Indeed," the rival female responded through a bloody jaw.

S'sner clacked her jaw in satisfaction and declared, "Be certain, none can be allowed to live. Take the bodiez to the hatching pit, our eggz ripen and hatchlingz are born hungry."

The Orreti obeyed but S'sner turned and skittered out low to the ground. It was good to be able to move freely at last, no more hopping about like an ape. No more hiding her species' contempt for humanity nor their ravenous hunger for primate flesh. It had been hard concealing their intent from the human leaders of the Diasporex but the matriarchs had determined that the long-term technological boons outweighed the short-term humiliations of joining.

As she slithered along S'sner eyed the remains of the Mayflower's biosphere. The interior space was ravaged by fighting and many buildings were in ruins. A shame really, S'sner had actually liked the architecture, it had been clean and pure, unlike most human designs in this benighted age. She had hoped to preserve more of it, but at least the damage was only cosmetic. The real prize was the Mayflower herself and all her primary systems were entombed deep within the rock of the asteroid, safe from harm. Even now her Quantum-pulse beacons were smoothing a passage through the Warp, eliminating the need for mercurial Navigators or a psychic race capable of the same feat.

S'sner snickered as she contemplated what she could do with this ship but first there were other matters to address. S'sner soon arrived at a large plaza where hundreds of non-human prisoners were being kept. Overseen by Orreti, Borlacs and Scythian guards. There were Tushpeta and Gykons, Deimurg, Tau and Fra'al, Jokero and Talerians and even a lone A.I. imprisoned in a fractal cage of recursive programmes. S'sner paused by the guards and asked, "Any problemz?"

A Borlac growled, "Not with them."

S'sner paused at that, they were communicating in the human tongue, an annoyance but it was the common language here. So her grasp of subtly was limited but she detected irritation in the alien's tone. She reared up on her hindquarters, barely coming up to the Borlac's chin, and asked, "What doez that mean?"

A Scythian butted in to chitter, "We left our kin-kin behind, many lives were lost!"

Ah, S'sner thought, insipid sentimentality was a common failing in other races. Still it would not do to offend these two, as much as it pained her the Orreti had neither the numbers or the technical skill to command the Mayflower alone. She affected a drooping snout as if saddened and declared, "Tragic, but we agreed the humanz had to go. Acham could not be allowed to come with uz, the crewz we left behind gave their livez for our future. They zhall be honoured in the new Diazporex."

The Borlac sneered, "If that happens at all."

S'sner eyed the pair and asked, "What are your namez?"

"Gleesh," the Borlac rumbled.

"Xnunch," the Scythian chittered.

"You are quick and clever," S'sner flattered them, "You will zpeak for your racez from now on."

S'sner watched as they puffed up with pride, effectively put in command of their own species' interests. The Orreti knew they would be looking after their own people first and foremost but for now they would support her. Satisfied she turned to the prisoners and called, "Who leadz here?"

There was some confusion but after a moment a Deimurg stood up and said, "I am Farqual and I seem to be the last senator left."

S'sner eyed him hungrily, Deimurg flesh was tough and leathery, not nearly as succulent as human meat but sadly that was not why she needed this one. Instead S'sner bowed and said, "We apologize for the dizorder, we intended an orderly change."

"Orderly change!" Farqual spat, "Is that what you call this?!"

S'sner shook her snout, a trait learned from watching humans and replied, "This was the work of Acham, hiz plan to take power for himzelf. He told uz it would be bloodlezz but he lied. In truth he planned to kill all non-humanz and take power alone. Thankfully we learned hiz plan and halted it in time."

"Acham," Farqual spat, "You expect me to believe such a bald-faced lie?"

"I zuggezt you look around you," S'sner hissed evilly.

The Deimurg did so, seeing the rings of armed guards and cowering crowds all around. S'sner could practically see his mind working as he counted the guns and judged the odds stacked against him. Then with a politician's deviousness he suddenly switched sides and declared loudly, "Yes... Acham must have been mad. I never trusted him, or any humans. They were all too greedy and demanding, always lording over us like they were better than everyone else. The Diasporex will be better off without humans in it."

S'sner clacked her jaw and said, "A new zenate will be convened, you will be informed when."

The Deimurg clearly understood that he was being allowed to live under sufferance, but he seemed to grasp that the Orreti still needed the other races and the politician was doubtless already scheming ways to claw back some influence in the future.

S'sner left him to it, scuttling off on her own business. As he made her way to the senate offices she reflected that she had spoken truth. A new Senate would arise, but this time with the Orreti in the dominant position. S'sner was tempted to imagine herself as the ruler of this new society but knew she was being presumptuous. There were others who were older and more powerful in her race she had to answer to.

Orreti rulership was a complex web of gene-lines and brood alliances, males were idiots, other fertile females were rivals and females past their breeding age were paranoid and devious. True authority rested only with the handful of ancient females who dwelt in the dank spawning pits, without which eggs could not incubate. They alone held the power of life and death over the egg clutches of the younger females, the ultimate guarantee of obedience among their kind. S'sner craved the right to add her eggs to the pits and her every instinct was founded upon achieving that goal.

Swiftly S'sner made her way to Acham's old office and entered without being interrupted. She hastily opened up his desk and began playing with the rune-pads, hissing to herself in irritation as she fumbled over the controls of the Quantum-beacons. It was annoyingly difficult to achieve her goal, the empathic devices seemingly reluctant to obey her, but after a frustratingly long interval she managed to activate them.

S'sner looked up and saw Acham's office fading to be replaced by a dank cave. Torches flickered in the corners and heated sands were piled high, basking eggs in nurturing warmth. It resembled some savage's cave, where primitives hunched over fires against the dark night. This was all a sham of course, the cave was on not on some primitive planet but another starship, yet tradition was tradition. Squatting in a corner was a large female, she was grey with age and her claws were dull. Yet her eyes were sharp and she spotted S'sner instantly.

S'sner abased herself before the Matriarch of her gene-line and declared in her native tongue, "Great Mother K'knaa, I come."

The elderly Orreti rose up above her, something held in one hand and said, "You're late."

S'sner lifted her head and declared, "Trouble arose, but waz defeated."

"You have the weaponz?" K'knaa inquired, "And the loyalty of your nomad-fleet?"

S'sner's tongue trembled as she answered, "We have the ground-weaponz and the colony craft, but the guard fleet was lozt."

K'knaa scoffed, "Not important, the weaponz were all that mattered."

S'sner was surprised by the indifference, she had expected rebuke and dared to ask, "Then your own coup…"

"Went perfectly," k'knaa replied revealing what she held to be a human liver, she took a large bite then explained, "Nomad-fleetz across the galaxy fall to the Orreti. We command a dozen colony craft, each with a fleetz far bigger than the little Mayflower boazted."

S'sner was glad and declared, "Then we rule the Diazporex!"

"Indeed," K'knaa replied, "Human domination iz over, now we command."

S'sner laughed, "I can't believe those idiotz thought uz content to bow before them. Our long and careful planning finally paid off. "

"It waz an uncomplicated matter to make the other racez bow," K'knaa agreed, "But I have to know, how did you talk Acham into arranging the trade for the weaponz?"

"I didn't," S'sner laughed, "It was actually hiz plan, I couldn't believe it when he approached me. He thought he could depend on uz."

K'knaa concurred, "Fool of a man, but he waz right about one thing; annexation of Imperial worldz could elevate uz to pre-eminence in the galaxy. Once I heard the plan I knew it waz our future, the weaponz you bring will be critical to building the New Diazporex."

S'sner bowed and asked, "Then we advance?"

K'knaa declared, "The fleetz will gather at a zafe place, hundredz of craft, all united into one force. With your weaponz we will overrun a weak corner of the Imperium and they will fall. The Diazporex will take our rightful place among the mighty, led by the Orreti naturally."

S'sner basked in the vision but she carefully noted, "The other racez will want their reward."

"They can have what we agreed," K'knaa stated dismissively, "Land, raw material and human-thrallz of their own. We will take the greater bulk though. Imperial dockz will build our craft, human workers will toil at our command, and meet our needz in other wayz. Why, one Hive world alone containz enough human-meat for our hatchlingz to feed every day."

S'sner's jaw drooled at the prospect of so much raw meat but she mastered her baser instincts and focussed on higher matters asking, "And for the one who brought you the meanz to achieve thiz?"

K'knaa clacked her jaw and replied, "Worry not, you will be reward richly. Your eggz will be welcomed into my pit and when the time iz ripe you will lead the New Diazporex to victory over the Imperium."

 _*The Storm Heralds will return in Indomitus Bellum*_


	50. Chapter 50

_*Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story Indomitus Bellum_ *

 **Somewhere, Somewhen**

The Macragge's Honour filled space with her titanic length, her crenulations and buttresses eclipsing the stars with forested rows of steeples and spires. She moved across the emptiness with stately majesty, a grand dame who had no need to rush for she was the queen of all she surveyed. In all of human history only a handful of such vessels had been crafted but none of those boasted such a lauded history and such an unblemished tally of loyalty. For she was Glorianna class, a relic from another age, when Mankind had yet retained a vestige of wisdom and understanding.

Following in her wake came an armada, each vessel a fearsome warship in their own right. Destroyers and frigates, Cruisers and forge tenders, supply ships and Mass-conveyors, even Battleships and Battlebarges. All of them, even the mightiest, were dwarfed by the Macragge's Honour and they swarming around the flagship like pilot fish after a predator of the deeps. This was one of the most impressive collections of might the Imperium of Man had mustered in at least a thousand years and it was but one small sub-fleet of the Indomitus Crusade.

The fleet hung close to the Macragge's Honour, keeping her safe at all times. It wasn't really necessary for the flagship could best an entire fleet all by herself. She had seen battle recently and the scars in her armour attested to the hard fighting she had endured. Yet the fleet still hung close for the Macragge's Honour carried a most singular soul, one that must be protected any cost, no matter how high. From the lowest rating to the highest Chapter Master it was accepted that the lives of every man present were to be considered expendable if it meant the survival of this one individual, though he would disagree with that assessment.

He was Roboute Guilliman, known as Thirteenth Primarch and the Lord of Ultramar. The Avenging Son, Blade of Unity, Eagle of the East, Last Loyal Son, Ruler of Hosts, the Victorious, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Imperial Regent, these were but a few of his titles and none of them were sufficient to describe him. It had been Guilliman's drive that had made the Indomitus Crusade a reality, his genius that had forged it into a peerless machine of war and his vision that had led it to victory for nearly a decade. It was the sworn duty of all to serve the Primarch's will and the secret desire of every soul to merely stand in his presence or lay eyes upon him.

Yet not every soul wanted this for the same reason.

In the lowermost region of the Macragge's Honour a team of crewman watched as servitors unloaded a cargo tug, dragging supplies out in huge boxes. This was a routine resupply run, bringing in unremarkable stores to satisfy the flagship's endless hunger. The crewmen barely paid attention to it, leaving the servitors to their task, for they did this every hour of every day and would do so for the rest of their mortal lives. The lines of heavy boxes were lugged into rows and scanned with Auspexes, the crewmen grumbling all the while about the pointlessness of checking a cargo that would have been screened a hundred times before being allowed anywhere near the Flagship.

Satisfied all was well the crewmen departed, leaving the servitors to lug the boxes deeper into the ship. Yet had they stayed they would have been cruelly surprised. Once the bay was clear the lid of one of the boxes rose up, revealing what lay within. First rose up a ceramite helm, shaped into the shape of a skull. Then came a pair of grey shoulder pads, followed by a black breastplate, wreathed in macabre adornments. Any man on board would have instantly recognised a Space Marine Chaplain, though not this particular one. His name was Megaro and he had never been here before.

Megaro scanned the dock and was relieved to see nothing but servitors. He carefully heaved himself out of the crate and fell to the deck with surprising quietness. He kept a watchful eye as he hefted his Crozius, Dawn-fang, and ensured there were no witnesses. Behind him there was a soft thud and he half turned to see another Astartes dropping from a crate. The pair shared a spiral in a starburst icon on their pauldrons but unlike him this one was clad in blue ceramite and had only a bolter and a knife.

Megaro kept silent but hand signed all-clear and hastily led the way into the bowels of the Macragge's Honour. Together the pair made their way past various compartments, taking extreme care not to be noticed. They kept to the darkest and most fetid bilges, for even so noble a craft as this had hundreds of forgotten nooks and crannies. A man could spend his life wandering around down here, seeing nothing but mould and dripping pipes until he forgot what light and warmth were like. Megaro paused at a ladder in an enclosed tube and waved his companion up then he followed, ascending smoothly hand over hand. As they climbed his companion finally broke his silence to ask, "Do you think we will make it?"

Megaro snarled, "Be quiet Fiett."

Fiett responded, "No one's here to see us. After everything we've been through together you can at least tell me what you think our odds are."

Megaro sighed, "Low, but it has to be done. One of us must reach the Primarch."

Fiett continued to climb but he commented, "Guilliman's well-guarded, was it wise to come armed?"

"I'm not going anywhere unarmed these days," Megaro growled, "But remember the mission, we are only going to talk to him, not fight him. He has to know what has happened to our Chapter, even if he kills us out of hand, he must hear our message first. Do you have any doubts as to the need?"

Fiett agreed, "I followed you when we fled Lujan II and I stood by you against the Warp born horrors that tried to stop us. Did I ever falter when the nightmares came for our souls? Trust that I'm with you, I only wanted to know the odds."

Fiett fell silent and kept climbing but Megaro could not help but think of the weight of his duty. He was a follower of the creed of the True Believers, the most loyal and devout of the God-Emperor's warriors, but he had been betrayed. He and half-dozen Brothers had been forced to flee before a Heresy that had consumed the Storm Heralds Chapter, casting down the noble champions Samect and Lessall. They had stolen a dilapidated old pilgrim ship and run for the stars, desperate to warn against this treachery.

Unfortunately the warp had not been gentle and the ship was beset by the perils of the Warp. They had been forced to euthanize the mortal crew as they succumbed to madness, possession and rotting diseases, but Megaro's faith never wavered and he had been certain they would survive. Sure enough providence had smiled upon them and the ship had been spat back into realspace, right in the Indomitus Crusade's perimeter.

Megaro saw divine favour in that remarkable fact, ending up right in the Primarch's path, but he had been promptly snatched up by a blinkered fool named Kieva. Megaro had been so close to his goal but Kieva wouldn't allow him to see the Primarch, citing the impenetrable layers of protection and administration surrounding the Lord Commander. Petitions for an audience had fallen upon the deaf ears of bureaucrats and Kieva seemed to be playing some game of his own, the Primaris Captain desperate to gain recognition among his peers. Megaro's patience had finally snapped and he had decided to take a more direct course.

Suddenly the ladder came to an end and Fiett hopped onto a catwalk, making his way to a large hatch. Megaro joined him and said, "Remember nobody suspects us, we are merely two more Astartes among hundreds. Act like we have every right to be here and don't provoke anyone."

"Understood," Fiett replied, "We don't stop till we reach Guilliman."

Megaro nodded and opened the hatch, preparing to step beyond. He was brought up short however by what confronted him. Standing beyond the hatch was a single warrior, clad in shining auric plate. His armour was engraved to an astonishing degree, every inch a masterwork that put Megaro's plate to shame. His helm was tall and crested with a red plume and in one hand he held a long spear, topped with an energised blade and a bolter. Megaro could not help but recognise this breed of warrior, he was a Custodian Guard and he was staring right at the pair.

Megaro was stunned but before he could react Fiett leapt past him, blade in hand. What happened next was poetry of motion, the Custodian flowed into a perfect attack stance, his arm blurring as he smashed Fiett aside in mid-leap with his spear. The Astartes hit the wall and was brought to his knees by a kick to his calves, then the spear blurred to bring the blade up across his neck. The scene froze with Fiett on his knees and the Custodian had only to twitch and the Astartes would be dead.

Megaro had never seen the like; Fiett was a transhuman warrior, gene-forged beyond mortal tolerances. He was as strong, fast and skilled as any Space Marine and the Custodian had still taken him down like a neophyte on his first day of training. Megaro suddenly grasped the legends of the Adeptus Custodes being privy to a higher order of gene-forging, ancient secrets above and beyond those used to create the Space Marines. The pair weren't even in the same league as this warrior.

Megaro carefully opened his hands and held his arms up, well away from his weapons. The Custodian was as motionless as a rock, holding Fiett down but from behind him a voice proclaimed, "Smart move."

Megaro peered into the distance and then groaned as he saw the unwelcome sight of Captain Kieva, approaching in his weighty Gravis armour.

Kieva strode right up to them and his pinched features scowled as he spat, "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Megaro dared to remove his own helm and snapped, "What you should have done."

Kieva shook his head and said, "Do you know how close you came to ruining everything? Years I've spent carefully putting our case together and you come this close to ruining it. If I hadn't got wind of your scheme to sneak aboard…"

"You should have let me go ahead," Megaro hissed, "I got on board, I had a chance!"

"You had nothing!" Kieva barked, "This is Custodian Catulus, he spends his life running Blood Games. That landing bay is bait to lure out hostile elements, a deliberate weak-point designed to appear vulnerable. The Custodians have been doing this for ten millennia and they've got very, very good at it. You wouldn't have got within a thousand paces of the Primarch before they took your heads."

Megaro saw the Custodian's head turn a fraction of a degree and hastily uttered, "I only wanted to talk to him, I have important information he has to hear."

"He already knows," Kieva hissed, "He's read every report and is unimpressed."

Megaro sagged and whispered, "Then why hasn't he done anything? Years I've been here and nothing has been done about the Storm Herald's treachery."

Kieva retorted, "The Primarch does nothing in haste, he collates, he strategizes and he makes plans. Forces beyond your comprehension are moving but you almost wrecked everything we've worked for."

Megaro looked up and said, "Then why won't he see us?"

Suddenly the Custodian spat a single word, "Enough."

Kieva agreed, "Indeed, you have abused my hospitality and are under arrest. You and your followers will be placed into secure quarters on the Macragge's Honour. Any attempt at escape will warrant instant execution. You may be permitted out under the escort of myself or my Lieutenants, but if you are seen unescorted you will be killed on sight. This is the only concession I could wring from the Custodians, I suggest you do not defy them."

Megaro sagged and as Fiett was let up he bowed his head and trooped away under the Custodian's watchful glare. Yet Kieva had one last word on the matter as he called after them, "Do not despair, I vow that you will be there to see how this all ends."


	51. Chapter 51

Hello, due to the keen level of interest in the Diasporex i can tell you they are in fact a playable race from the BFG Expansion. These are the stats i used to represent the ships in this story. Some are taken straight from the material, others have been modified using the Smotherman formula

Anyone interested in learning more can download Warp Rift magazine issue 15

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Ships of the Diasporex:

Ships: Bonaventure, Human commander, Callisto-class Astro-Clipper

-205 points

The pride of the Diasporex fleet, a sleek and fast cruiser easily able to outpace its lumbering Imperial counterparts. Fitted with advanced Xeno gear that boosts its weapons accuracy to allow precision strikes on enemy sub-systems.

HP8/ Armour5+/shields 2/ Turn 45 degree/ Point defence Turrets 2/ speed 25cm.

Port WB Strength 6 45cm

Starboard WB S6 45cm

(Meson-beams) Lances Port arc S2 45cm,

Lances starboard arc S2 45cm

Dorsal Ceti Distrupter S1 F/L/R 30cm, (on hit Roll D6 1=normal hit. 2-5=suffer critical equal to roll, 6=player assumes control of one enemy weapon system)

Prow Weapon battery S4 F/L/R 30cm

+Augmented Engines

+Structural analyser: (Lances score critical hit on 5+)

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Mayflower Earthseed class colony ship

HP20/Shields 4/Armour 5+/turn45/Turrets 5/10cm/

Lances S6 60cm F/L/R/ rear

Torpedoes 10cm F/L/R/rear

WB S10 30cm F/L/R/Rear

WB S6 45cm F/L/R/Rear

WB S4 60cm/F/L/R/Rear

enhanced Targetting grid

Enhanced Point defence

Enhanced Damage control

Enhanced ECM systems

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Orreti Arsenal ship: Modified Europa class-points 210

HP8/Armour 5+/Shields 2/ Turn 45/ Turret3/Speed 20cm

Starboard Launch bays S2

Port Launch bays S2

Starboard Torpedoes Right/Front arc Strength-6 30cm

Port Torpedoes Left/Front arc Strength-6 30cm

Prow WB F/L/R arc Strength-4 30cm

Dorsal Lance, F/L/R Strength-1 45cm

+Guided torpedoes can make a 45 degree turn at the start of each ordnance phase

+Enhanced Sensor array: +2Ld for enemy contacts instead of +1

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Borlac Gun-Brig: Points 100 (Modified from escorts using Smotherman formula)

HP4/ Armour 6+/ Shields 1/turn 90/ Turrets 2/ Speed 20cm

Prow Weapon battery, Front arc S8 30cm

Dorsal Lance F/L/R S1 45cm

\+ Heavy Armour

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Scythian War-Sloop: Points 40

HP1/Armour 5+/Shields 1/Turn90/Turrets1/Speed 25cm

Dorsal Weapon battery, F/L/R S2 30cm.

Prow lance S1 Front Arc 30cm

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Fortune's Fool Rogue Trader Cruiser: Points 190

HP8/shields3/Turn45/turrets2/speed 20cm

Prow WB F/L/R S4 30cm

Starboard WB R S4 30cm

Port WB S4 30cm

Launch bay S2 Fighter/Assault boats

Launch Bay S2 fighters/Assault boats

Fra'al shield (+1 Shield)

Eldar targeting array (+Left shift on WB)

Diemurg repair bots (+2 dice on repairs).


End file.
